


Put Me Back Together (Fictober 2019)

by Sapphires_and_Gold



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Braime - Freeform, Brienne x Jaime - Freeform, Fictober, Fictober 2019, I literally cannot stop myself, It's getting a little cray up in this collection, Jane Austen - Freeform, Little Mermaid Elements, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sense and Sensibility - Freeform, There is officially a Princess Bride AU in here y'all, There's also a Sense and Sensibility adaptation in here, a whole bunch of aus mostly, aaaaand now there's an Indiana Jones au, definitely a whole bunch of things that no one asked for, jaime x brienne - Freeform, library kink, maybe some interstitials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:42:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 54,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphires_and_Gold/pseuds/Sapphires_and_Gold
Summary: Welcome to my Fictober 2019 ficlets! The title of this collection is taken from Caitlyn Smith's song "Put Me Back Together." I seriously hope I can make all 31 happen, even if I'm a little behind. But it's also gonna be all Brienne & Jaime all the time so... sorry not sorry. The running theme of this collection of short stories is Jaime and Brienne finding each other and putting each other...wait for it...back together.Lovely cover byRo_Nordmann





	1. “It’ll be fun, trust me.” (Modern AU - Ferris Wheel)

Bran sped past her in his motorized wheelchair, "It'll be fun, trust me!"

Brienne rolled her eyes at the back of Bran’s head as he headed up the ramp to the ticket counter for the Riverrun Eye. She couldn’t believe she’d let the Stark kids talk her into this. The vacation had started off well enough. Catelyn Stark had invited Brienne to come with them to the Tully family reunion, and had even extended the invitation to Brienne’s on-again off-again boyfriend who had met them in the middle.

“I don’t want you to think I’m bringing you along just to babysit,” Catelyn had said. “It should be a fun trip, and there’s plenty to do. I do know the kids would love to spend more time with you now that you’re off at college for so much of the year, and it’ll be nice to spend part of your summer with Jaime, won’t it?”

Brienne had honestly been considering breaking it off with Jaime completely - maybe just via text. Not that he deserved that, but Jaime...he was a lot. And his feelings for her were a little overwhelming, especially when she was the one person that he let in. But, she conceded, maybe spending time with him away from school would be different. Maybe he wouldn’t be such an asshole. 

Too many maybes. 

Brienne had enjoyed a whole two hours of vacation time when it started to fall apart. The second Jaime had arrived he’d shouted her nickname across the echoing lobby of the Twins Resort, and it had all gone downhill from there. He’d insisted on sharing a room even though Catelyn, not wanting to assume anything about their relationship, had paid for one for him. They had been mostly together for about 8 months and they hadn't yet slept together, so Brienne would have been fine with the separation, but Jaime insisted on taking the pull-out sofa bed and giving her the bed yet then complained every morning about how poor the springs were. And even sharing a room they didn’t spend much time together because Jaime was enjoying letting some of the older Tully men get him drunk and tell him old war stories, then stumbling in and tripping his way across the room until he face planted on the sofa without even opening it. It On top of that, the Stark kids had all taken to Jaime - Bran and Arya especially - and they loved to shout “wench!” across the property whenever they spotted Brienne. 

So when one afternoon, while Catelyn was at the bar with her brother and uncle, Bran had begged Brienne and Jaime to take him and his sisters to the largest Ferris wheel north of Dorne, and Jaime immediately agreed, Brienne was less than thrilled, but had no choice but to go along. 

Sansa talked the whole way over to the ticket booth about how much she wanted to get some cool Westagram shots of the sunset, and how she was so excited to send her mother a picture of the three siblings from all the way at the top. By the time they purchased their tickets, Arya had picked up the thread and was already prepping her FacelessBook followers for a live stream. Jaime caught Brienne’s glance and rolled his eyes, and she actually laughed. If the two of them had anything in common (and despite their occasional spats, they actually had quite a bit in common) it was a general disdain for social media. 

Jaime seemed to light up at her laugh, but he put his smile away as soon as he saw the ride attendant studying Bran’s approach.

“Hi there, how many will be riding today?”

“There’s five of us,” said Sansa, reapplying her lipstick. 

“Cool,” replied the attendant with a glance toward Jaime before addressing Bran. People - men and women - were always giving deference to Jaime as if he were a handsome half-god bound to a mortal coil. “Hey man, if you want to transfer out of the chair we can get all five of you in one car, otherwise with the chair we can accommodate two people with you, and the other two in your party will be in the next car.” 

Brienne was still processing this option when Bran responded, “Awesome! Hey Brienne I don’t have to transfer! I can stay in my chair isn’t that cool! And Sansa and Arya can ride with me!” Brienne didn’t have the heart to break his, but she glanced at Jaime before she responded. He was already grinning and high-fiving Bran. “That’s great—“

“That’s awesome!” cut in Jaime. “Brienne and I will be right behind you!” And then Sansa was pushing Bran onto the car with Arya in tow, and Brienne was alone with her on-again off-again war story obsessed couch-sleeping boyfriend. A shock ran up her arm when he grinned at her and dragged her into the next car, pulling her down onto the bench next to him as the door closed. They rode a quarter of the way around the wheel like that, holding hands, before Brienne pulled away and put her hands in her lap and blew out a sigh. 

“What’s wrong? I thought this would be...you know....nice?”

“Nice?” she almost spat, “Nice like what?”

“I mean I thought we could I don’t know, talk? Or maybe make out a little?” His words were casual, but she could his voice was almost husky.

“Jaime, I’m sure these things have security cameras.”

“Well yeah but we’re not stealing anything...” he wiggled his eyebrows at her, “I mean I might be...” he pressed his lips to her shoulder and then tried to pull her face to his but she shifted away from him on the bench. 

“Jaime we’re sharing a room, we could have.... we have other time why do this here? You’ve been acting like I’m barely even there. You’ve taken over _my_ room—“

“I know, it's just... I don’t have a lot of people in my family who lived through the last war and Catelyn’s uncle is a HOOT. You could hang out...we could hang out together.” 

“I’ve been around Blackfish plenty, I don’t need more war stories.” 

“Well I love hanging out with the kids too - there aren’t a lot of kids in my family either. I know what you’re going to say - ‘Except for you, Jaime - you’re more immature than the whole bunch.’”

Brienne scowled. “I wasn’t going to say that. The kids - Bran and Arya and even Sansa - they like you and that’s great. I just...when you agreed to come out for this I thought we would have... time for us. To...I don’t know.”

“Those kids sap a lot of energy - I just kind of assumed that you were too tired to... talk. I mean I didn’t take my own room, right? I decided to stay with you? But you’re so... you go to bed so early when I’m still buzzing and want to be...you know...hanging out with you but I don’t want to keep you up... And then you’re up first thing in the morning so by the time I’ve woken up and thought about starting my day with you, you’re already up and about. But this,” he gestured at the car they were in, now on it’s second revolution of the wheel, and slowing near the top, “Brienne this is for us...wow is that...?” Jaime had gotten distracted and was pointing across her at a spot far in the distance, visible apparently only from their height at the top of the wheel.

She looked at him curiously. “Jaime what do you mean this is for us?”

He ignored her, “I honestly didn’t think he was serious when he said we’d see it from here.” 

Brienne followed the length of his arm and looked out over the forest and the hills and old rotting keeps and, sure enough, there seemingly just south of the capital (though in fact it was more than fifteen leagues away) was Tarth - her family’s namesake, the little island where she’d been born before her family had moved North to escape the almost constant tropical heat. Brienne felt like her heart had jumped with a gasp and she unconsciously grabbed Jaime’s hand on the bench between them. “Jaime I haven’t seen Tarth—“ 

“—since you were a kid. I know.”

“How did you...” she turned to look him in the eye, still gripping his hand, “how did you know we would see it from here?”

Jaime had the decency to blush a little before scooting a little closer to her, “the guy I bribed told me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “The guy you—“

Jaime chuckled and gestures to the space around them. “As you can see there’s plenty of room... the five of us could have fit with the chair, hell the capacity for these things...” he did the math in his head, “with the chair we probably could have all squeezed in AND brought half the Tully family with us. But I thought maybe you’d like a break? On a more selfish level I think I just wanted you to myself without the pressure of... I don’t know, stuff?”

“Stuff?”

Jaime’s eyes moved from her eyes to her lips, and then down to her collarbone where she had a scar from that ill-fated camping trip. He leaned in and rested his forehead on hers, his eyes still downcast. “Brienne I know I’m an asshole sometimes. But you make me want to be...not that. I want to spend time with you. I thought this trip could be a change of pace for us, you know? I'm so grateful that Catelyn invited me. No classes, no late nights down in the scene shop, no cramming for tests...we’re always so busy and the thought of not seeing you all summer... Gods, Brienne. I’d love just once to get to fall asleep holding you while we watch a movie or something and then wake up and find you haven’t run off to the gym or early study group or something."

“Or something...why didn’t you say anything?” Brienne was whispering despite their proximity and solitude. 

“I was afraid that if I said it _in the room_” he said with emphasis, “that you’d get the wrong idea and think I was just trying to..erm...I’m not trying to get into your pants, Brienne. I mean—“ he cupped her face on seeing her semi-hurt expression, “Brienne. I told you when I first convinced you to go to that anniversary screening of Love, Actually with me that I wanted to be with you, whatever that meant. I’m impatient - you’ve seen me at Burger King - but not when it comes to that.” 

She leaned into his hand. “Yeah, why _don't_ they put the onion rings on the actual menu?” 

“_Right_? Ugh...see? You and me... we should do this more.” He leaned in and she smiled against his lips. And before she realized it she was panting against them, her back pressed against the glass, her hands under his shirt and trailing up and down his spine as he gripped the bench on either side of her, nipping at the corners of her mouth.

“Mmmph...Jaime?”

“Hmmph?”

“Jaime shouldn’t they have let us off this thing by now? I thought it was only supposed to go around twice.”

“Erm... remember when I bribed the guy?”

She pulled back and looked at him. 

“Well I gave him a little extra so we could have more time...you know without interruptions.”

“Interruptions...interruptions! Jaime, the kids!”

“They’re fine, they’re very capable. Sansa's almost 15!“

“Jaime, Catelyn will kill me if something happens to them.”

“Trust me, they’re fine. They’re meeting us at the photo stand.”

“They’re—" she narrowed her eyes at him, "Jaime, how do you know they’re meeting us at the photo stand?”

Jaime ducked his head and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Ikndabrbdthmtoo,” he muttered into the flesh just below her scars. 

“What?”

He picked up his head. “I kinda...bribed them, too?” 

“Jaime!”

"Well," he said, wrapping his arm around her fully and pressing his lips to her scars, "Bran did tell you this would be fun."


	2. "Just follow me, I know the area." (Modern Tarth AU)

Jaime was lost. 

When Tyrion has recommended he get away, he’d spun the globe in his library and had Jaime tell him when to stop. Tyrion’s finger had landed not far from home at all, but Jaime had agreed to it all the same - anything to get him out of this godforsaken city, and away from his cousin’s wedding.

Tarth was a small island east of the Stormlands. Jaime took a very short flight from KLI to SEN, then a cab to the wharf, and from there he chartered a boat to Evenfall, the largest town on the island. There were ferries that ran twice daily to and from the island, but Jaime felt better spending the money for the private boat and avoiding the crowds of families traveling for the summer. 

At one time, he thought he might become one of them. Cersei had convinced him that they belonged together, and that they too would one day go abroad in the summer, maybe with their 2.5 kid family, maybe with a dog… they would be the only people in the world that mattered, and the world would be their oyster. It didn’t matter if business was booming or if they had to scrimp and save just to take a day trip, it would be them taking on the world together. 

But Cersei had never believed in that. Cersei wanted the power, the privilege, of the family business. So when Jaime stepped away and told his father he’d having nothing more to do with it, Cersei wanted nothing more to do with him. Her affections very quickly transferred to one of the firm’s managing partners, and Jaime was left alone - he’d be taking on the world alone. 

From the docks it was a very short walk to the Evenfall Suites - the largest hotel on the island, not that it meant much. Tourism to the island was usually found in day trippers who took the ferry over and explored the markets, and then went back to the mainland where chain resorts lined the popular Stormland Coast. The Evenfall Suites was at the northern tip of the island and boasted just 16 rooms, but each had a view of the Narrow Sea. The inn backed up against Evenfall Wood, a quiet mountainous forest full of evergreens that made the island feel massive. 

It was in those woods that Jaime was now lost. 

He wasn’t the first person to underestimate the scope of Evenfall Wood. People - men more often than women - had been getting lost in the forests of Tarth since the days of magic and knights and dragons. The tall grey-bearded proprietor of the inn had offered him books and pamphlets and even tried to get him a tour guide when he’d checked in - the pages of the books seemed worn and the ink had begun to fade, but in a place like Tarth the facts rarely changed. Yet Jaime wasn’t one for reading or guidebooks, and he wasn’t in the mood for company. When he made the trip he’d thought only of where he was headed from. So he wandered into the woods too late in the day, and heading in the opposite direction of all civilization. 

A steep edifice rose ahead, the sound of running water seemingly not far, but maybe too high for Jaime to reach. If only he could get to the ledge above, perhaps he could get his bearings and spot the sea. He hitched up his trousers and pulled himself up the rise slowly, using his hands to push against the larger stones, kicking up a cloud of dirt. Finally he could smell the water and could hear it rushing quickly toward a precipice. 

He’d just caught sight of the waterfall and a hint of a clearing through the trees when he felt a sharp burn across his palm - one of the stones at the top of the hill was craggy and had cut him there. Losing grip with his right hand, his arms windmilled and he toppled backward, rolling back down the hill, striking stones and twigs, and beetles in his path. By the time he landed at the foot of the hill his arm was bloody and his body was dusted in fine soil and rock dust. 

Afraid of his state, he tested his limbs before opening his eyes and found that all of them seemed to function as expected. Then he twisted his head from side to side and found that his neck was sound. Clutching his pained right hand to his chest, he used his left to prod at his skull and face - all seemingly sound there too. Finally he opened his eyes. 

He’d found the sea. 

A woman - he guessed it was a woman - was peering down at him with eyes bluer than he could have ever imagined. Cersei’s eyes were hard like jade - she’d insisted that they were the same as his but he’d always seen his own as moss and juniper. These eyes were softer still - like cornflower and starlight. Like shards of the blue and white porcelain his mother had collected before her marriage. Like tide pools during a full moon. 

He was bewitched by these eyes which had somehow found their way in the company of the woman’s other features. She was ordinary and yet exquisite - short tawny hair that seemed stiff as if washed in salt water, but curled behind her ears, a half-moon scar stretching across her left cheekbone, thick lips the corners of which fell just outside the lines of what might be considered pretty symmetry, broad shoulders that highlighted the gracefulness of her long neck, and freckles - freckles everywhere - as if the gods had traced the carbon of the night sky through to her skin. She wasn’t beautiful, she was startling. She was astonishing. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice deep and soothing. 

“Are you a... fairy?”

She snorted, his question catching her off guard. “No, there are no fairies on Tarth.”

Tarth. Tarth. The insignificant name sounded much more wonderful in her mouth than in Tyrion’s. 

“An elf?”

She scoffed, “You’ll find I’m much too tall for that. Did you hit your head?”

He sat up slowly, causing her to sit back on her heels. He hissed when his bloodied hand touched the gravel. 

“Here, let me.” She took his hand in hers - soft above and callused below - and quietly tended to it. She opened a canteen and poured her water across the wound, offering him what was left to drink after. Then she carefully cleaned around the area with a wipe she pulled from a pack in her pocket, and bound it with a roll of gauze she kept in her bag. It should have stung while she wiped it down and throbbed when she wrapped it up. It should have been painful, but Jaime was so mesmerized by her that he barely felt a thing. He found himself checking the backs of her shoulders when she turned to pack her supplies away. 

“So you’re not a fairy...” he looked appraisingly down at her muscular thighs and calves, “you’re certainly not an elf... and I checked for wings so I guess you’re not some kind of angel fallen from the heavens...”

She smirked, zipping up her bag, “No, not an angel. Besides you’re the one who did the falling.”

“Yeah I might have to do it again sometime,” he muttered mostly to himself. 

She started to blush. It seemed to originate behind her ears and then spread in glorious pockets of pink and coral across her cheeks and neck, and past the collar of her t-shirt. He ached to see just how far it might continue. Her mouth tweaked to one side and she pushed herself to her feet, holding out her hand for his left to help him up. 

Dirt fell from him in sheets as he stood, filling the air. He held onto her hand and stepped closer to her, shaking her hand, marveling at her height which just exceeded his. “I’m Jaime. Lannister.” 

She smiled, her eyes a deeper blue now, set against the pink in her cheeks, and shook his hand back. “I know. You’re staying at Evenfall Suites.”

She dropped his hand and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. 

“I...how did you know?”

She bent over, dusting off her knees, “Well...not many places for tourists to stay on this part of the island—“

“—How do you know I’m a tourist?” he asked, flashing his teeth.

She rolled her incredible eyes. “For one, the locals don’t really get lost. And they certainly don’t try to climb the falls without gear. For another - you’re staying at my hotel.”

Were they actually staying at the same hotel, Jaime thought, he would be sure to stick closer to the property for the rest of the trip. “I took you for a local.”

She let out a laugh that would have caused birds and all sorts of creatures alike to go scampering away in any other forest, but which here felt perfectly suited, natural. “No, Jaime... it’s  _ my _ hotel. My dad checked you in - big guy, beard? That's how I know your name.”

“Oh…” so not only did the magical nature woman rescue him, he thought, but she was operating an honest business that clearly didn’t sap the livelihoods out of the poorest of the poor, putting her heads above Cersei - literally and figuratively. _Jaime_. Gods, but his name sounded amazing when she said it. “So do you always come after idiot tourists who get lost in the woods, or am I a special case?”

She glanced at the sky and eyed her wristwatch, “Men like you usually at least pick up one of the guide books.” 

He grinned up at her, “There are no men like me, only me.” 

“Well,” she said, tilting her head fondly, “next time we’ll be sure to get a book printed with your name on it then.” 

He laughed openly, feeling somehow unburdened. Free. His heart leapt a little at her words.  _ Next time _ . “What’s _your_ name?”

“Brienne. Tarth. Like the island,” she said, gesturing to the woods around them. "I'm descended from the original founders. My family used to own this land."

Tarth.  _ Tarth _ . There it was again, an entire world built with her lips. “Huh. So Brienne be honest, how lost did I get? Do we have to camp here, or will my bruised body and ego get a bed tonight?”

He watched her blush again.  _ How far does it go?? _ “Mostly you walked in circles… we’re no more than fifteen minutes from the main building. But the sun’s setting so it’s going to get dark quickly. We should take it slow just to keep from tripping on the way there.”

“Well then,” Jaime stepped closer to her again, and looped his good hand into the crook of her arm, “I’d better stick with you. I don’t mind taking it slow.”

She smiled, the starlight in her eyes igniting faintly, and tightened her arm around his hand. 

“Just follow me, I know the area.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tarth!


	3. "Now? Now you listen to me?" (TWOW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a day behind, i'm exhausted, and I don't have a beta. I've also never written an ASOIAF fic like this - I usually veer more toward GOT. So this is scary and maybe not good? I have no idea. All typos are mine, all lack of knowledge is mine. I'm sure I did something silly here but whatever, it's Fictober.

They were getting close to the Brotherhood’s territory. They could encounter one of Stoneheart’s men at any moment. Brienne halted her horse and jumped down, leading the mare off the road and into the brush where she secured the reins around a thick branch. Jaime leapt down as well and began to follow her lead. 

“No Ser Jaime don’t,” Brienne sniffed, “we’re bringing your horse - he’ll make for a quicker escape.” 

Jaime looked at her curiously. “What’s going on? I thought Sansa Stark would be further yet.” He peered at her and could see that tears had begun to form in her startling eyes. 

“Ser Jaime, I need you to trust me.”

“What is it, wench?” he pried, stepping closer to her, “Why did you come to me with this bandage on your face and rope burns on your neck? What has happened?”

She shook her head. “You won’t believe me. I just need you to follow my lead. We may both still survive this. How has your fighting progressed? Your left arm?”

He flexed it. “If you’d wanted to spar my lady we needn’t have left Pennytree.” He could see that she was not keen to his jests. “What danger lies ahead? Have you laid a trap for me, wench?”

“It was the only way, Ser Jaime. She’s going to kill Podrick.” The tears were flowing now, and he resisted the urge to wipe them from her cheeks. 

“Who is?”

“I told you,” she whispered, “You won’t believe me. You have to see her. And right now I need you to let me bind your arms.”

He looked at her askance. 

“I’ll make sure you can loose yourself, but we need to be convincing to the Brotherhood. Believe me when I say this is the only way.” Her tears were drying as her resolve firmed.

“Wench…”

“You risked your life for me time and again, do you really think I would ever ask you to do so unless absolutely necessary? We don’t have a choice Jaime. We have to go to her. Give me your sword.”

Jaime studied her. She could have shown up back at Pennytree and told him that the Titan of Braavos was made of cheese, and he would have followed her. Her path was his, it had just taken him a while to realize it. And now she was asking him to go into an unknown situation with not just one good hand, but in fact none as she was bringing him in as a prisoner. He wanted to balk at the idea. But he couldn’t bear to watch her cry again. “Fine.” He unbuckled the belt holding Widow’s Wail and handed it to her and watched as she settled it on her right hip, the two halves of Ned Stark’s sword flanking her like the unassuming warrior she was. “Bind me, but not too hard.”

“No,” she sniffed, “I’ll make it so you can free yourself, whatever happens. Trust me, please.”

Jaime widened his shoulders to keep the rope loose as she drew his arms together, her hands soft against his stumped arm. “You said the Brotherhood - has Beric Dondarrion finally ended his unnatural life? If a woman was to defeat him, I can only imagine it would be you, but that doesn’t fit.”

“No,” she said from behind him, “he has been replaced by another.”“And how do you know your mystery woman won’t behead me the moment she sees me? How shall I defend myself then?"

“She won’t. She wants us to suffer. There will be time. Trust me.”

“Oh I do wish you’d mentioned the suffering _ before _ I agreed to be tied up and delivered for slaughter.” He felt her pause and take a deep breath before finishing her work behind him. She pressed the end of the length of rope into his hand and he squeezed hers as she did.

“There,” she said. “You only need to pull, and your arm will be free.”

“Good thing I can free myself, wench. Otherwise I couldn’t stop you taking liberties with me, could I?”

Brienne blushed hard. 

“There it is. I was hoping I might get to see it one last time.”

“Ser Jaime —”

“Oh, lead on, wench - there’s suffering to be had!”

Two of Stoneheart’s men crossed them in the road not ten minutes later, and brought them before her. Harwin stood to her right, and Thoros haunted the corner of the cave. 

“Lady Catelyn, I see the rumors of your death have been… somewhat exaggerated.” 

Harwin raised his chin. “Lady Stoneheart has not given you leave to speak, Kingslayer.” 

The milky white woman raised a taloned hand to her neck and pressed down, a heavy hiss emitting from her mouth. “You have no honorrrr Kingsssslayer.”

“That’s not true!” came a shout from behind them. 

Brienne heard one of the men hit Pod to silence him, and she stepped forward. “It’s true, my lady. A Kingslayer has shit for honor.”

“Now? Now you listen to me.” Jaime was looking between Stoneheart and Brienne in disbelief. “This is--” he faltered when he saw her eyes begin to water again. “Wench…”

“It’s true,” said Brienne, turning to Stoneheart, “a Kingslayer has no honor. But Ser Jaime, the knight before you, is not that man.”

“Ser Jaime is the Kingslayer!” cried Harwin. 

“No,” Brienne cried back, “it’s Ser Jaime. It’s just Jaime. He is honorable. He followed me thinking we were going to save your daughter, my lady.” 

The woman let out another hiss, “Oathhhbreaaaakerrrr.”

Brienne stood up straighter. “My lady, you said that you would spare the others if I… I brought him here. That must be enough to let Pod and Hyle go. You get Jaime and you get me.”

“No!” Jaime urged, “certainly your freedom has been secured too. You’ve kept your promise where it regards me.” He turned to the former Lady Catelyn, “You have me. Let the rest go.”

Jaime couldn’t make out Stoneheart’s next words, but Harwin was quickly barking orders for the two Brotherhood guards behind them to escort Pod and Hyle back to the road. They were letting them go. But he and Brienne were still here. 

“Wench…”

“Lady Catelyn,” started Brienne.

“Oathhhhhbreaaaakerrrr.”

“No, my lady,” Brienne all but begged, “Ser Jaime and I have broken no oathes. He would not have come here unless it were to try to fulfill the oath you now accuse us of abandoning. I… my lady, I beg mercy for him.”

“Toooo laaaate.”

Jaime stepped closer, “Well then, my lady - how am I to die? I see you already tried to hang the wench, but that didn’t seem to take. Perhaps your trees aren’t strong enough, but I’m a little lighter perhaps it’ll work for me.”

“The swoooorrrd.”

“A beheading? Aye that’s unfortunate. With my swordhand gone, I’m afraid all I had left was my looks. Very well, whose duty will it be to rid house Lannister of its lord, hmm?”

Stoneheart hissed, and Thoros spoke, moving from the shadows to the cave entrance. “Your whore will take your head,” he said, gesturing to Brienne. “If she does, she will live.” 

Brienne looked at the ground, and Jaime looked at her. She must have known. He willed her to look at him and when she did, he gave her a resolute nod, his cocky smile never leaving his face. “Very well. Lady Brienne, I seem to be on your dance card again.”

She looked at him sadly, her hand twitching around the pommel of the sword he had given her. 

Jaime turned back to the ruin of Catelyn Stark. “Lady Stoneheart...is it? Much as I’d love to make a pretty farewell, I think I’d like to whisper my last words to my queen of love and beauty, as it were. Might I be granted that? 

“Say your words and get on with it, Kingslayer.” Harwin spat at Jaime’s feet. “Then your whore will take your head.”

Jaime turned to Brienne and stepped close to her, close enough that he could have caught the tears running from her eyes with his cheeks. “Wench” he leaned forward and she tilted her head down automatically so that their temples rested together, their lips at each other’s ear. Jaime felt the last resistance give way as his lips brushed the shell of her ear, “I’ve told you before. I trust you. Now shield my back, Brienne.”

In a flash, Jaime’s hand was free of the rope and he had pulled his sword from Brienne’s belt and spun away from her. They backed against one another - he taking on Harwin who rushed him impulsively and lost his ear for it before losing the rest; Brienne took on Thoros, a skilled fighter in his prime, but now so reliant on magicks that he could not compete with Brienne’s strength, and she cut him down at the knee before driving her sword into his shoulder. He was dead before his face crashed into the dirt. Lady Stoneheart was roaring, though it sounded more like steam escaping a hot stone fissure. They heard running footfalls approaching - the guards. 

“Jaime —”

“Brienne, go! I’ll handle her.”

Without checking to make sure she’d heard him, Jaime pushed forward and moved toward Stoneheart. 

“My son named this sword for you, you know. But I hope to give it a new name soon.”

“Kingsssssslayer. Oathhhhhbreaaaakerrrr. Craaaavennnnn. Your whooooore should have killlllllled you. She haaaaaas no honoooooor.”

Jaime hefted his sword as best he could. 

“Her name is Brienne. And she is the truest knight in the seven kingdoms. She has enough honor for both of us.”

“Arrrrre you so craaaaaven that you would draaaag her down with youuuuu?”

“I’m not dragging her anywhere,” Jaime said, “She’s lifting me up. She’s my redemption. I suppose I should thank you for her. I do hope your soul rests easy when she and I have found your daughters. I hope you find peace.”

“Craaaaaavennnnnn!”

She would have said more, except that Jaime’s sword finished what the Freys had started. 

“Jaime.”

He spun to face Brienne. She was closer than he’d thought she’d be. 

“It’s done, wench. The others?” He could see the blood spattered across her arms. 

She sheathed her sword, then removed his sword belt from her waist and handed it to him. 

“There may be more in the woods, I’m not sure. I have to find Pod. And I’ll have to go back for my horse.”

“We’ll find him. And then we’ll go east.”

“Jaime,” she shook her head, “you needn’t come. I can keep searching. I’m sorry for putting you in danger, I’m sorry I lied to you. Lady Catelyn was wrong, I--”

“She was wrong about a lot. But I meant what I said. I mean to fulfill our oath.”

“But your men... and your—“

“There’s nothing for me there. From now on, I am with you, if you’ll have me. We can find her, I know we can.”

She nodded slightly, her blush growing, then ducked her head and left the tent. And he followed.


	4. "I know you didn't ask for this." (ASOS canon-divergence)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days I will force myself to do these as drabbles. And maybe some of the 31 this year will be. But so far, these kids have been dragging their lives out before me and I am powerless to stop them.

It had been 11 days since Jaime had last been to see her in her tower cell. He’d promised to find a way to get her out of King’s Landing. He’d hoped to find a way to save his brother as well. The full moon had come and gone. 

It had been 9 days since Lord Tywin had come to her cell and informed her that she and Jaime would wed. She had said little in response, and less still when he informed her that she would be moved from the cell.

It had been 8 days since Septa Donyse had come to fit her for a gown, and 2 days since the blue silk gown had been delivered to her new chamber.

It had been 3 hours since Cersei’s shadow had appeared in her doorway without warning, a smirk marring her beautiful face. 

_ I understand that my son the king, at the behest of my father, has _ _ decreed that we shall be goodsisters soon. It doesn’t look like you’re terribly happy at the prospect. _

_ My father believed that I could have some say in my future, she’d said, but your father doesn’t see things that way. _

_ Cersei had almost chuckled. No, he doesn’t. He never did. I confess if Qyburn hadn’t confirmed your maidenhead already, I would have few reasons to believe you were a woman, but my father’s insistence on controlling you seems to make the case quite evident. He does like to play with people’s lives. _

_ Marriages are arranged all the time, your grace. _

_ The queen’s smirk deepened. Except in your case, one would hardly call it a marriage. A wedding, yes, but a marriage...that requires a willingness to be bound to one another. A desire to do so. By the look on your face, you are no more desirous of that than my brother is. Or perhaps your face simply falls like that. But it matters not. Jaime has no interest in a marriage with one such as you. _

_ I have not spoken with him, your grace. But I don’t believe he or I have a choice in the matter. _

_ Cersei’s glance turned almost warm. You know, I could leave the door open when I leave. You could run now and avoid the entire thing. My father will be upset, so the crown won’t be pleased. But you’ve flitted between loyalties before, Lady Brienne. I’m sure you’ll find another berth soon enough. _

_ Your grace is kind to think of my comfort, but I would not go against the king’s wishes in this. _

_ The warmth was gone. Very well. I don’t expect your… relationship will last long in any case. You’ll leave for Casterly Rock but I wonder at your ever seeing it. Take care, Lady Brienne. I would not wish my goodsister to fall ill on the road. And one never knows what might be preying on travelers. _

It had been 155 minutes since the queen had left the chamber, air pouring back into the room in her wake. Brienne had sat gasping on her bed. If only she could speak to him before the ceremony and find out what had happened. 

It had been 119 minutes since the septa had returned to help her into her dress. Brienne had almost not recognized her own body in the looking glass. Nothing could hide her height, but she seemed to have more of a woman’s shape now. 

It had been 88 minutes since Brienne had entered the Sept of Baelor and met Jaime at the top of the steps, afraid to look at him and see his disappointment. 

It had been 78 minutes since he had cloaked her with the Lannister colors. He’d struggled with his gold hand and when he’d secured the left side, the right had begun to slip from her shoulder. It would have fallen except that Brienne had reached across her chest and grasped it just as Jaime had reached and caught it as well. She thought he had whispered his thanks to her back, but it was covered by the susurrus of the shifting fabric and Cersei’s snickers from the gallery. 

It had been 73 minutes since the septon had bound their arms with ribbon and Jaime had gently squeezed her hand. She’d looked over to find his face solemn. 

It had been 72 minutes since they said the words, and she could barely look at him. 

It had been 70 minutes since he had leaned forward and pressed his lips dryly to the corner of her mouth, an action so reluctant and impersonal that Brienne felt assured of Cersei’s assessment of her brother. 

It had been 55 minutes since they had arrived at the feast - a small affair even by Tarth standards, miniscule by royal and Lannister standards. 

It had been 35 minutes since King Tommen had made the only toast, wishing his uncle and the new Lady Lannister prosperity before taking himself to bed; 35 minutes since Jaime had leaned over and taken her hand, raising it in salute to the boy as the small crowd cheered; 34 and a half minutes since he had pulled her toward him gently so that he could whisper in her ear, his face as grim as ever. 

_ My father will not suffer a bedding ceremony. With Tommen leaving, we _ _ may taken our leave whenever you wish. _

_ Brienne had ducked her head, feeling Cersei’s eyes boring into her across _ _ the room. If we are not needed here, then I am eager to depart, my lord. _

_ He’d given her a curious look, then glanced at his father who raised an e _ _ yebrow and nodded just once. Jaime had jerked his face to look back at _ _ Brienne, her hand still in his. Come, my lady, he’d said at volume. Then f _ _ or her ears only, Let us rid ourselves of these grotesques. _

It had been 32 minutes since he had led her away from the hall. They’d walked quickly, anxious to be away from the melee, and both having avoided the lure of the wine. Their quarters had been readied near the Tower of the Hand - a way, perhaps, for Tywin to keep them within his grasp until they departed for the west. 

It had been 27 minutes since Jaime had opened the door and motioned for Brienne to enter. A low fire was burning and the sky was purple, the sun’s rays fading quickly. Jaime had bolted the door behind them and then sagged against it with a heavy sigh. 

_ Wench. _

_ She’d hesitated. _

_ Brienne. He’d reached for her arm and turned her to face him. The dour _ _ expression he’d worn all afternoon while not quite looking at her had _ _ vanished. In its place, one of exhaustion and relief. Blue is a good color _ _ on you, my lady. It goes well with your eyes. Are you alright? I’m s _ _ orry I couldn’t come to see you these last few days. I’m even sorrier that _ _ you had to get the news of your future from my father. Tell me that _ _ you’re well, wench. _

_ She’d stared at him, transfixed by his altered expression. No my lord, I-- _

_ \--Jaime. These last few days cannot have changed us so much that _ _ you’ve forgotten. _

_ She’d licked her lips before responding, and he’d watched the motion _ _ before flicking his glance back up to her eyes, steady. Where have you _ _ been? The words had come out quieter and with more desperation than s _ _ he’d intended and she could see the effect on him, the worry building, a _ _ face that he’d shown her and no one else. _

_ My father. Once the terms were set he said I wasn’t to have contact with _ _ you until the ceremony. I thought of defying him. I thought of coming to _ _ you every day and telling you everything. But I was afraid that he would _ _ hurt you or Tyrion. He pushed off the door and stepped toward her. As _ _ long as I obeyed, you and my brother were protected. Without that _ _ protection, there was no telling what Cersei might do. _

_ Brienne had nodded. She came to see me this morning. _

_ To welcome you to the family? _

_ To warn me, I think. She offered me an escape, actually. But I doubt she _ _ had my interests in mind. _

_ No doubt. He’d sighed and taken another step. I’m sorry that happened. I _ _ swear it shan’t happen again. We’ll be leaving King’s Landing soon, and _ _ then she won’t be able to touch us. _

_ Jaime, she suggested that I watch my back on the road, too. _

_ His face had gone stormy. I swear to watch it for you, wench. She has no _ _power where we’re going. _

_ Brienne had nodded and then looked at him resolutely, summoning all her _ _courage, speaking quickly. Jaime, I know you didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did. And I know that I’m not… not her. But I hope that there is some comfort, that is, I am comforted and hope you are as well, that if this is our fate, that at least we are friends. At least we may lean on one another--_

_ —What makes you think I didn’t ask for this? He’d taken a final step toward her and clasped her arm. _

_ Jaime, you were Lord Commander-- _

_ \--Aye and what a Commander I was. Jaime had crowded her and forced her to step back as he went on. I soiled that white cloak every chance I got. Brienne, they were going to kill my brother, and as Lord Commander I was expected to stand idly by and let that happen. I couldn’t do it. But there was a problem. _

_ Brienne had felt the backs of her thighs hit the bed just as Jaime stopped moving. _

_ You. _

_ Me? _

_ I couldn’t leave you here. I couldn’t leave you behind. I could have told my father that I wanted you for a guard at Casterly and keep you a maiden, but I knew better. He’d been waiting, you see, for me to change my mind about being his heir. But he couldn’t keep other houses waiting for me, so there were no other highborn ladies waiting in the wings; but you were here. If I’d asked to bring you with me in any capacity other than my lady wife, he would have inevitably turned it into a wedding anyway. _

_ She’d shuddered as he ran his hand up and down her arm, her nerves firing as she tried to keep her breath under control. _

_ So I beat him to it. I told him that I was in love with you, and that I wished to marry, but that i would only do it if he gave me Tyrion. _

_ She’d almost whimpered when he reached up and cupped her face. _

_ So yes, I did in fact ask for this. And I have no regrets about doing so. And I would have told you as much before we said the words if I’d been able to see you. I would have told you everything… I would have given you the option at least - I’m sorry that it couldn’t be that way. I’m sorry that you’ve had no say in being married to a cripple, formerly of the Kingsguard. But I’m not sorry for getting you away from here. It felt selfish but I need you to know that I was thinking of your safety. As it is, I still need to make Cersei believe that this was my father’s doing, otherwise the rest of the plan won’t work. _

_ What plan? _

_ Jaime had actually smiled and leaned closer to her. Wench you didn’t think I would just drag you to the rock and put a babe in your belly and forget all about our oathes like my father would want, did you? _

_ Stunned, she had said nothing. _

_ We’re going to find Sansa and bring her north. We’ll try to find Arya too. He’d been so close that his breath had begun stirring her hair. And when we’re done you’ll decide your future, marriage vows or no. _

It had been 51 seconds since their lips had crashed together, his hand gripping the nape of her neck, her hands gripping his tunic; 34 seconds since his tongue had slipped into her mouth; 32 seconds since she had moaned into his. 

It had been 3 seconds since she had pulled him down onto the bed with her and he had mentally sworn to keep every vow to her. 

In 248 seconds, she’ll remove his gold hand and press his stump to her heart. 

In 14 minutes, the blue silk will be balled up on the floor. 

In 23 minutes, she’ll come apart with his name on her lips, and her honey on his. 

In 29 minutes, she’ll come apart again when he spills inside her, crying her name. 

In 17 hours, they’ll sit for their final meal in the Keep. Cersei will demand Jaime’s attention. Jaime will give it. 

In 19 and a half hours, he’ll have Brienne pressed against the inside of their chamber door. 

In 32 hours, Tyrion will join them as they ride west from the capital. 

In 32 and a half hours, Tyrion and Brienne will be fast friends and take to teasing Jaime together.

In 6 days, Tyrion will continue west while Brienne and Jaime turn north. 

In 19 days, they’ll be pressed together sheltering from the rain, his mouth on her scars when they finally whisper their love for one another. 

In 95 days, they’ll rescue Sansa from Baelish. 

In 8 months, Sansa will be safely ensconced with the Night’s Watch.

In 12 months and 1 day, Arya will join her. 

In 13 months and 28 days, Jaime will knight Brienne at Winterfell. 

In 13 months and 29 days, Jaime and Brienne will fight at Winterfell in the Long Night, and survive. Brienne has decided her future.

In 16 months and 12 days, they will rejoin Tyrion at Casterly Rock. 

In 18 months and 3 days, Jaime will tear up a letter from his sister begging for help in the capital. 

And in 22 months and 15 days, Jaime will curl up on the bed next to a propped up Brienne and hold his wife and newborn daughter to him while Tyrion watches them fondly from a chair by the hearth.


	5. "I might just kiss you." (College Library AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU. Why yes, this does take place in a library.

Professor Tully of the Medieval History Department at Stormland University (Go Stags!) doesn’t like tests. The mysteries of the past had always been her specialty, and she loved giving her students a challenge that would not only force them to work with someone else to reach a goal, but give them some access to the restricted section of the library where the oldest and most valuable volumes were kept, encouraging both teamwork and responsibility. 

Stormland University was home to the most extensive epistle and journal collection in Westeros, though budgets being what they were, the upkeep wasn’t as up to par as it should have been. They were still losing a volume or two every year to poor climate control or misuse. So this term, Catelyn only offered access to the restricted books in one of her classes - MH302 - UNSOLVED HISTORIES - as a way to control the use of the texts but also recognizing that this group of students could help perpetuate the historical knowledge kept there in the basement. 

Brienne Tarth was a brilliant student, except in maths; she was actually good at maths, but begrudgingly so. And as a history major she was hoping to not need maths so much. Her compatriots in Professor Tully’s class were for the most part very bright as well, but there was only one other history student - everyone else was an art, political science or anthropology major, all trying either to meet the course requirements, or trying to gain some knowledge adjacent to their course of study. The only other History major was Jaime Lannister, a senior working on his 10th term because he’d messed around too much in his second term, and he’d missed his 9th term due to some personal thing. Catelyn had had him in classes before and had almost not accepted him for this one, but she wanted him out of him out of her hair sooner rather than later, and if granting him access to this course would speed up his exit, then that worked for her. 

Brienne had been in classes with Jaime before, too. And it had never gone terribly well. He was always poking at her for being too tall to sit in the front of the class (could she help it that shorter people always arrived early and took up the back seats?), or he would ask to borrow a pen and then never give it back - little things that all added up to a headache. In her second year, they’d been in a class on medieval languages together - that’s where he picked up her nickname. She’d hoped he’d have dropped it by now but not Jaime. Jaime with “wench” was like a dog with a bone. 

The pairs for the midterm project were picked at random in week 3 of the course. When Catelyn had said Brienne’s name immediately following Jaime’s, he’d poked her shoulder with one of her pilfered pens and said “Hey wench, that’s us!” She’d rolled her eyes and ignored him. 

In week 4, Catelyn assigned subjects to the pairs, also at random, giving them four weeks to do the research and pull their project together. One pair was assigned a project on the fabled fashion of dragon-age armor. Another got assigned a project on the missing mythical weapons of Westeros - Excalibur and Oathkeeper, and the like. Still another got assigned a project on the mysterious death of King Renly Baratheon. 

Brienne would have loved any of these, especially the latter. But it wasn’t to be. 

Instead, Brienne and Jaime had been assigned the unknown fate of the lost maidens - following the trails of Sansa and Arya Stark. 

Jaime had rolled his eyes, but Brienne being an excellent student had already marked out the necessary research periods on her calendar, and had reserved time in the restricted section of the library for her and Jaime. He dragged his heels and she had to pull him to the basement by the wrist, but they finally sat down and divvied up the project, taking over a large table at the far end. The library assistant for the restricted section was a bear of a man who glared at Jaime until he took his feet off of the table, but otherwise he was innocuous. 

They’d been on the trail for two weeks (or rather, Brienne had) when they found a record of a person clearly matching Arya’s description disembarking a ship in Braavos. The harbormaster had even noted the presence of her narrow shortsword-- 

“Needle,” whispered Jaime, seemingly half-engaged. 

Brienne looked up at him in surprise. She didn’t think he paid attention in class at all, but unless he’d been doing some independent reading, he couldn’t have known the name of Arya’s sword otherwise. 

They had established from journals of the maester for the Night’s Watch that Arya had been secreted from the capital after her father the Hand’s execution, by a member of the Night’s Watch. He’d sent a raven ahead saying as much in code, yet neither Yoren nor Arya had made it. But the existence of those missives alone indicated that the Boltons had never possessed the real Arya, a fact that had long been argued in historical circles. Furthermore, there was slight evidence that she might have spent time in a prisoner camp at Harrenhall with some Braavosi, and it was that information that led them to examine the harbormaster’s ledger. She had most certainly not been present when her family was slaughtered at the Twins, else the Freys would have claimed it. The next logical step for her had been to go east. 

Sansa had been a very different story - in some ways, she’d been easier to track. Unlike Arya, she would have been more inclined to trust the people around her, and that included people who were close to her family. The records from the Eyrie were incredibly brittle and Brienne didn’t like trusting them in Jaime’s hands, but he’d sworn to her and the library assistant that he would wear gloves and be gentle with the tomes. He kept this promise for three days by not touching them at all and instead playing a game on his phone. But then slowly he picked up the work. 

In the middle of their second week working on the project, he met her outside the library with two coffees - one in hand which he gave her, and one clutched in his elbow which he shifted into his hand once it was free. She’d seen him fumble with books and such in his right hand before, but she’d also seen him playing the phone game with his right hand. 

She didn’t think on it too hard, instead she thanked and then immediately admonished him for bringing coffee when he knew there was no food and drink allowed in the restricted section. He offered her a lopsided smile in return and just said “Sure, but isn’t it nice to catch up out here in the cold with something to warm you up before we go back to the basement?” She’d nodded reluctantly and thanked him again before swallowing a few gulps and then depositing the half-full cup in the trash by the door.

From that point on, he and Brienne pored over their separate books side by side, translating for one another when the words were too faded or obscure or, for Jaime, simply moving around on the page too much. 

They had confirmation that Sansa had arrived in the Vale, but from there the trail seemed to go cold. There was mention of a girl about the same age, but the description was wrong. Brienne thought it unlikely that a maester would lie, but Jaime had never trusted maesters, so he kept digging. When the trail went cold, he wrote down a handful of words on a bright pink post-it and told Brienne he was going to go “look for something else.” She assumed that meant that he was going to go hide in the stacks and play his game again. It was no matter, really. They’d tracked Arya, and that was more than they’d expected - it would be enough to focus the project on her. 

Jaime had been gone for 10 minutes before Brienne realized that his phone was still sitting on the table - wherever he’d gone, he’d apparently gone in earnest. She got up and stretched her legs and decided to go in search of him. 

After another 10 minutes she found him on the floor in one of the dustier corners amid some familiar volumes from the Night’s Watch, his knees bent, with what looked like a very heavy thick text propped up on them. The light here was dim, and he was squinting to read the words on the page. He heard her approach and looked up at her only briefly before patting the linoleum next to him. She walked over and sat down, bringing her knees up as well. 

“How can you read back here, it’s so dark!”

He hushed her. “I think I found something.”

“Jaime I thought we agreed that Arya went to Braavos. We don’t know that she ever made it north.”

He looked at her wide-eyed with mischief, “We did. I’m not trailing Arya. I’m trailing Sansa. And I think she made it. I matched up the approximate time frames, and it’s all here. The girl that’s mentioned being at the Eyrie after Sansa - I would swear that it’s the same girl that’s described arriving at Castle Black.”

“Jaime, brown hair and blue eyes - that could be anyone. Gods, it could even be any one of Robert Baratheon’s bastards - it could be a literal white walker.”

“And there’s nothing about her chewing on anyone - pretty sure this was a living girl. And not brown, chestnut. The maesters at both the Eyrie and Castle Black use that exact word. Chestnut - it’s practically auburn. Sansa stark had red hair… they could have used some kind of dye to dim it but the red would have continued to show through.”

“Wasn’t the maester at the wall blind?”

“Yes!” 

There was a loud shhing sound from a few stacks over. 

“Yes,” Jaime whispered, moving closer to her, “This is what I’m talking about. Someone must have given the maester that description with purpose. Perhaps it was Sansa herself. Perhaps she used the same words that Petyr Baelish used in order to protect herself.”

Brienne wasn’t convinced. “It’s a stretch…”

“Wench, she was escorted by a knight.”

Brienne’s breath caught. “Well that’s unusual. A woman at the wall on its own is not unheard of especially during that time, but a knight for an escort?”

“A very tall knight. No other description. I thought - and you’ll probably think this is a stretch for sure - but I thought maybe it was that knight who’d shielded her in the capital. The dog one - the Hound.”

Brienne shook her head. “That is a stretch...but not impossible. There was another person looking for her at the time as well. Also quite tall. Fashioned themselves a knight but they weren’t one… I always wondered what happened...”

“If it were the Hound they might have mentioned his face.”

“If it were the heir to the Evenstar they might have mentioned she was a woman.”

Jaime’s lips curled up into a sly grin, and he swallowed. “You’re right… and I think they did. Later on - in the texts we looked at before - there’s mention of a woman sparring with the men. If it was her, that makes--”

“--a lot of sense, yeah. Holy shit, Jaime.”

He gave her a rueful smile and looked back down at the book. 

“All that time we were looking at the Night’s Watch stuff I thought you were playing Candy Crush or something.” 

He tilted his head like a dog and peered at her, the realization of what she meant coming startlingly across his face. “Oh, the phone!”

He brushed at his pockets. 

“You left it on the table - that’s why I came back here, I figured maybe you were actually onto something.”

“Ah… I’m sorry, Brienne. I promise I wasn’t distracted, it’s not actually a game - not really.”

His use of her actual name should not have thrilled her as much as it did. “It doesn’t matter--”

“--no, no. It does to me - I want you to understand, I’ve been paying attention the whole time, but I have to keep at it. My physical therapist says that my grip might not improve but if I can work on my dexterity in my fingers then I should actually be able to get back to typing okay.”

“Your… what happened?”

“My sister. She… well there’s no nice way to say it, she had her giant boyfriend beat me up and then while I was on the ground, she ran over my hand with her car.”

“Oh my god!”

“Shhhhh,” said the faraway stacks.

“Oh my god, Jaime.”

“Yeah...she kinda sucks.”

He was easing the heavy book off his knees but she saw his right hand struggling, so she reached over and helped him lower the tome to the ground. Their faces were very close while she reached across him and he caught her start to blush bright strawberry in the dim fluorescent light before yanking her hand back to her side. 

“So… does that mean… I don’t mind - being the one to type up the report and stuff.”

He grinned. “Actually the practice might be nice. Can we just do it together?”

“Yeah of course.” 

“Cool.”

They sat staring at each other’s hands. Suddenly Brienne started, and grabbed his arm.

“Wait, Jaime - you found her! You found Sansa Stark. And maybe someone else, too. Someone really important. Oh my gods, Jaime - this is… this is very good.”

“Well we did it together, right?”

“I mean yeah but if you hadn’t… gods, Jaime I might just kiss you! I can’t believe you found her!” She froze then, and the strawberry blush was back. So was his sly grin. 

He forced himself to look at her eyes and not her lips, and then he brought his right hand over and slipped his weaker fingers under hers on his arm, using the slightest pressure, like he was trying to squeeze it. “Maybe we can save the kissing for somewhere where we’re less likely to get asbestos poisoning.”

“Jaime, I--”

“We have a week to finish this project. Let’s get through it. If we haven’t killed each other by the time we turn it in, have coffee with me - finally - and then I might just kiss you first.”

His eyes were wild watching the tides churn in hers, but she pursed her lips and grinned, nodding. 

He exhaled, coughing at the dust that had settled around them. “Let’s get out of here, wench. I’d really like to live to see next week.”

They made note of the tome number and headed back to the table, his right hand in her left. 


	6. "Yes I'm aware. Your point?" (Princess Bride AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the Princess Bride AU that absolutely no one asked for, and which is not going to at all be what you expect. At least that's what I think because it's really and truly not what I expected when I set out to write this. AND YET. Uh... please enjoy. 
> 
> Sorry for the C*rsei bit at the beginning - it is VERY short-lived.

Jaime loved Cersei dearly. He would do anything she wished. If she wanted her horse brushed, he was there. If she needed a pitcher handed down from the shelf in the kitchen, he was there. Anything she asked, all she had to do was ask, and Jaime would reply “As you wish” and do it. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and her smiles were for him. 

But Jaime did not feel worthy. 

He desperately wanted to make a name for himself - to prove his honor and earn his knighthood and show that he was good enough for her. And so he left on the only ship he could find work on - a ship that happened to be smuggling Westerosi slaves to Essos, a fact that Jaime did not learn until the ship was captured by the Dread Pirate Roberts. 

Roberts was a tall and imposing fellow whose face was scarred and half-covered at all times, but what Jaime could see of it was freckled beyond belief. The pirate’s eyes were as blue as the sea they sailed. He ordered that the slaves be sailed back to shore and freed, and that the crew of the ship, including Jaime, walk the plank. The stories were true - the Dread Pirate Roberts never kept captives, and never killed people outright, but let the sea take them. 

When Jaime’s turn came he turned to the captain and ducked his head saying “Please don’t kill me. I want to live.” 

It was the please that gave the pirate pause. 

He asked why he should make an exception, and Jaime went on to describe his desire to become a knight, casually mentioning that a beautiful woman awaited him, but it was the drive for honor and knighthood that gave Roberts pause. The pirate was moved and hired Jaime as a deckhand. And every night Roberts would say “Good night, Jaime. Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.” 

And so it went for weeks until more than a year had passed and Roberts revealed a secret. Yes, she was a woman. Jaime was shocked, but suddenly it was as if all the pieces clicked into place - a woman had become the most feared pirate on the Narrow Sea; she captained her ship - Oathkeeper - better than any he’d ever seen before; and she was incredibly strong - physically and emotionally. And brave. Gods, but she was brave. 

She asked him then to be her second in command, and he accepted. She still ended each night the same way. “Good night, Jaime. Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.” But now Jaime looked forward to it. 

Almost six months later, they were set on by the Brave Companions, a collection of misfit pirates who killed for pleasure and had no fear of the Dread Pirate Roberts. The ship was taken and some of their men were killed, the others - Roberts and Jaime included - were taken to the rocky isle of Harrenhal where they expected to be tortured for their secrets before being killed. 

In the midst of it all, Robert’s jacket was torn off and the Companions realized that he was in fact a woman. They set upon her but Jaime screamed “Sapphires!” as loud as he could. He told their leader Vargo Hoat that Roberts knew of a cache of Sapphires worth more than all the treasures on board, but that only Roberts could sail them there. “I doubt she’ll do it if you harm her first,” he’d said. 

Hoat issued an order to his men to lash her to the mast and to do the same with Jaime, but only after they removed his hand for stymying their pleasure. After that, Jaime got weaker by the hour, infection setting in. He wished he could see Roberts, but she was on the other side of the mast. He could hear her though. And whenever the crew was far enough away, she would whisper as loud as she could, urging him to live. 

She was directing them to Tarth, but from there she didn’t know what they would do. As they approached the island, a hurricane bore down on them, and Hoat told his crew to bring the prisoners below so that they didn’t die in the storm and waste the trip. That’s when Roberts made her move. 

She broke free from the pirates holding her and tore into the men, throwing them overboard, biting them, knocking their heads together until all that was left was Jaime whom she stored below to keep him out of the rain. She had sailed these seas all her life, storm or no, and she safely guided them to the docks. 

She took Jaime to a maester and stayed with him until he was well again. While he slept and recovered in the cabin, she whispered the real history of the Dread Pirate Roberts to him, knowing he likely could not hear her. 

“I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts,” she said. “My name is Brienne. I inherited the ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts, just as someone will one day inherit it from me. The man I inherited it from is not the real Dread Pirate Roberts either. His name was Salladhor. The real Roberts has been retired fifteen years and is living very comfortably and quietly in Flea Bottom. They say he has an onion stall in the market. We can go there one day.” She held his hand and imagined that he was squeezing back.

After Jaime recovered and he was fitted for a hook, they readied Oathkeeper for departure. They expected to take on a new crew in King’s Landing, but Brienne’s heart wasn’t in it. She thought of turning the ship over to Jaime and making him the next Roberts. If she did, then she could remain with him with the new crew for a spell, but eventually she would leave and let him continue the myth. But she didn’t think she could bear to leave him. She’d been in love with him for a long time.

When they put into port at King’s Landing, they received the latest news - Prince Rhaegar was to marry Cersei - the beautiful woman that Jaime had left behind. Brienne was heartbroken and would not stand to see Jaime the same way. She told him that if he wanted to go to her, to stop Cersei from marrying, she would not stop him, that she would continue on as Roberts and find someone else to take up the mantle in a while. 

Jaime just looked at her like she had three heads. “Why would I go? I’ve lived this life with you for nearly two years and never asked to go. Why would I go now?”

“Cersei is about to marry the Prince.”

“Yes I’m aware. Your point?”

“You love her, Jaime.”

He looked at her, almost with pity. “I thought I did. But I was never truly good enough for her. We could never be equals.” He took her hand in his. “Not like you and I, Brienne.” He squeezed.

So he _had_ heard her. 

“When I left, all I wanted was to be good enough for her. I thought that knighthood would make that so. But now I realize that honor isn’t something you go out and claim - it has to live inside you. And you made me realize that it’s been there all along. I’ve never had to be anything other than myself with you. And I don’t want to ever be anywhere that you’re not.”

Rumor has it that the onion stall in Flea Bottom still thrives, that an old man named Salladhor is enjoying his retirement in Lys, and that the Dread Pirate Roberts is in fact two people called Roberts - a tall woman and a one-handed man - who travel up and down the coast righting wrongs and saving maidens.   
  
  



	7. "No, and that's final." (Mass Transit AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also not a drabble.
> 
> Literally no one asked for this.

Brienne was the first female subway conductor in King’s Landing proper. She’d been warned that the union was a bit of a boy’s club but she didn’t mind. She’d wanted to do this ever since she knew what the subway was, and a couple of pigheaded old guys weren’t going to bother her - she was taller than most of them, could lift more than most of them, and certainly had her share of battle scars to prove that she wouldn’t be intimidated. Not that any of that mattered to Jaime.

She had met Jaime at her first WTS union meeting when she was assigned to the subcommittee he served on, and they instantly took to one another - that is Jaime instantly took to making fun of the rookie and Brienne instantly took to making fun of the old timer. There wasn’t much of a gap in their ages but Jaime has been riding the rails so long by this time that he treated everyone else like a newbie, but especially Brienne. He just couldn’t get enough of the way her face flamed up every time he pissed her off.

If it had just been the meetings, they might have stayed like that - griping at and with each other over a conference table somewhere in Kingswood once a month, often butting heads, but more often than not shouting down other people together only to part as strangers at the end of each session. But after about 8 months on the job, Brienne realized that Jaime rode her route in the mornings - not the route she lived on, but the one she drove. 

The Westeros Transit System wasn’t very large - just a few lines all laid out rather poorly, connecting at the corners, and with seemingly random letter enumerations - the F, W, S, M, A, C and T. You couldn’t even make an acronym out of it so locals semi-affectionately called it “The Seven.” Brienne lived off of the A which ran from Duskendale to Stormsend, but she was a conductor on the W which also originated in Duskendale and ran to Maegor. And it was that line that Jaime apparently lived off of. 

Every few mornings she’d spot him boarding in Maegor, coffee in hand, and watch him doze a little until the train reached Duskendale. After observing him for a couple of weeks, she finally poked her head out of the interior door and gave him a friendly wave. A sleepy smile crossed his face and he saluted her with his coffee, mumbling “morning, wench.” As it turned out, he’d noticed her months ago and had decided to watch from a distance “to make sure the rookie was doing her job right,” he teased. 

So while she’d been spotting him dozing, but often rousing to give elderly customers his seat, he’d been studying her, and had had no complaints except to mention that maybe she could give a little less warning before closing the doors (she was cautious by nature). 

A begrudging respect and friendship formed between them, so much so that when they realized two weeks later that he drove the A line and was often on shift when she was headed home, they actually celebrated with a hug. Both were glad to have a friend on the rails. Jaime loved starting his day with Brienne and Brienne loved ending her day with Jaime. Subcommittee meetings were still a breeding ground for teasing and insults but now they always went for a drink after and ended the night on a high note. 

When Jaime and his longtime girlfriend broke up, Brienne was the first person he called. He’d spent a lot of time being miserable with the woman and Brienne was happy to be there to support him through the transition. In the wake of it, he decided to move to an apartment in Duskendale, and when he boarded the W with half his belongings in a cart, Brienne joked about being his personal driver. At the end of the line, she helped him carry his stuff to his new building and then they had both wound up sprawled on his living room floor next to half a bottle of wine when they still hadn’t finished putting his furniture together at 3am. She was sad that she’d no longer get to see him at the start of his day. 

But with Jaime living in Duskendale, they actually saw each other more often, whether it was happenstance or deliberate, they didn’t acknowledge. Every few mornings he would meet her at the top of the stairs with coffee when she went to transfer to her route. Sometimes when she got off work, she would ride the A back and forth, keeping him company for an hour or so before he finally kicked her off in Stormsend and sent her home. Jaime living in Duskendale also meant that he finally had a chance to meet Brienne’s boyfriend - a conductor on the WNS. 

The Westeros North lines were named for their destinations further outside of the city - the Sunspear line ran in tandem with the A and then kept going all the way to Dorne; the Lannisport line ran in tandem with the W and then kept going until it met the west cost. Tormund worked the Eastgate line which started in Duskendale and then kept going north - all the way north. The line was so long that it took an entire day just to reach from one end to the next. There were sleeping berths onboard, and the conductors often slept on the train between shifts rather than going home. 

Tormund’s home was north but whenever he hit a shift change at the southern end of the line, he and Brienne had a standing date. It didn’t happen often but when it did and it, even more rarely, cut into the time that Jaime had with her, he was always a little down about it. After he finally met the guy he decided he wasn’t down about it, he was downright mad. The guy clearly didn’t see Brienne for all her worth. In the hour he spent with him that first time, the guy couldn’t shut up about how tall Brienne was, as if it was new information to any of them. Jaime didn’t like him. 

A couple of months after meeting Brienne’s boyfriend, after one of their union meetings, Brienne announced that she had a week off coming up. She wanted to spend some time with her dad, and Tormund had planned some vacation time too, so they’d get to go see her dad o Tarth together. Jaime “oh that’s great”‘d and “sounds like fun”’d earnestly over his martini but Brienne could tell that something was off. 

So when he drank too many martinis, she drank just as many trying to be a good sport and keep up with him. He was falling over by the time they left the bar and they barely supported each other all the way to his building, giggling like maniacs as they tripped up the stairs. By the time they reached his apartment, she could see he wasn’t feeling 100%. Once inside she steered him directly to the bathroom and spent the next hour gently brushing his rakishly long hair away from his face while he tried not to drown in the toilet. 

When he finally felt like he couldn’t do any more damage, Brienne made him drink some water and then stood him up and stripped him down to his underwear before sitting him down on his bed. When she tried to tuck him in, he tugged on her sleeve and asked her to stay “in case I get sick again.” She’d kicked off her shoes and climbed in behind him, and they’d fallen asleep with his knees couched against hers, and her hand clasping his shoulder. 

When she woke it was because he had turned over restlessly, thrown an arm across her waist, and was now exhaling from his nose straight into her mouth. She’d blinked and rubbed his arm gently to try and wake him but that only made him grip her tighter. He made a tiny sound that might have been the ghost of a moan, and suddenly he had tipped his face up to her and was sliding his lips soft and urgently against hers in his sleep. 

Brienne made to pull away but he unconsciously chased her lips. She twisted her face away and his mouth landed just below her ear sending a spark of something coursing through her body. She finally yanked his arm away from her waist and pinned him to his pillow by the shoulder, soundly waking him up. 

He’d stared blearily at her, piecing together what had happened - the drinking, the stairs, the bathroom, her hands scraping up his sides when she undressed him, the warmth of her pressed behind him. But none of it explained why she was now leaning over him and looking like he’d hurt her. Gods his head ached. 

When he finally cleared his throat and asked what happened, her only response was a sympathetic “I think you were dreaming of Cersei.” He tried to focus and get her to talk to him and help him understand what she meant but she moved too quickly to gather her things and clear the room and she never heard him rasp “I dreamt of  _ you _ .”

The next day they were back to normal. She asked how he was feeling after his binge, and he ribbed her for having announced her intention to arm wrestle the bartender. They went on as usual, neither one admitting that something had changed. 

But it had. 

And when she was on Tarth the following week he missed her more than usual. He looked for her more than usual. But she wasn’t in Duskendale and she wasn’t in Stormsend; she wasn’t in the laughter at the bar or in the smell of his morning coffee; she wasn’t in his bed, no matter how many times he woke up imagining her there. 

Four days into her vacation he thought he was hearing things when he picked up the sound of her voice in Stormsend Station. Someone who sounded an awful lot like her was clearly arguing with someone else, but he couldn’t see her in the crowd from his mid train booth window, and despite voices carrying easily here, the words were muddy. She wasn’t due back to work for another few days so Jaime chalked it up to his brain working overtime to fill in the gaps her absence left behind. 

But then the shouting got closer and her face appeared above the masses pushing through the turnstiles, rushing to catch the train before it departed. 

Her face was blotchy, the way it always got when she was upset. And she was dressed for a shift, which seemed strange. Just behind her was Tormund fumbling with his wallet. The bell rang once indicating that Jaime had approximately 30 seconds to get the doors closed before his train would be considered behind schedule. She was moving quickly enough and he thought if he could only wait 25 of those 30 seconds he could make her see him, and make sure she was okay. He didn’t want to pull out of the station if she was in trouble and now that he’d seen her he really didn’t want to leave without her on board. 

He angled his body to the side and leaned out of the window as far as he could hoping she would see and acknowledge him. 

“No.” She was saying quite firmly, finally clearing the turnstile just as Tormund found his transit card. The bell rang twice. 

20 seconds. Jaime couldn’t wait much longer. He called her name somewhat desperately and her head snapped up, a storm of emotions clouding her face and then making way for relief and something else. Her long legs carriers her quickly to the train doors just as Tormund swiped his card, yelling “Please, Brienne!” 

She spun on the threshold and almost snarled, “No, and that’s final. I want you gone when I get back.” Jaime punched the door release, shutting Tormund out. He was still pounding his palm against the window as Jaime pulled the train out of the station. 

Between stops, Jaime opened the booth door into the car. He didn’t even need to open it all the way, as Brienne was standing right outside, waiting for him. 

“I didn’t think you were working,” he said attempting casual, “I thought you still had more vacation time.” 

“I do,” she replied, “I’m not on, but I needed an excuse to leave. I don’t even want to go back. I’m not sure he’ll actually go.” 

Tormund had wanted to marry her. Not just marry her, but carry her off to the north where she would have his babies and never work again. 

“Doesn’t sound like you,” Jaime rasped, “not at all.” 

She smiled almost shyly and shook her head. “No, it’s not.” 

He told himself that it was concern for his friend that made him invite her to stay with him for a few days while things calmed down. That was it, not the way she smiled at him like he was the only person in the universe who could make her do so, or the way she bit her lip between thoughts, or the fact that he knew both of them were too tall to sleep on the sofa. 

She told herself that it was a desire for peace and normalcy that made her accept his offer to stay, just for a few days until she could call her neighbor and make sure that Tormund had left. That was it, not the way his hair fell over his eyes when he was feeling shy, or the way the faint crows feet at his temples crinkled infinitesimally every time he thought she couldn’t see him looking at her, or the fact that she had dreamt of his lips on hers ever since that hung over morning. No, it certainly wasn’t that. 


	8. "Can you stay?" (Civil War AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Civil War au where Brienne is there when Jaime kills Aerys - it's a whole thing that literally no one asked for. Very tame in terms of content.

Jaime was sure he was dying. He hadn’t planned on it when he’d decided to take down the General, but he supposed it was what he deserved for having fought on the wrong side of the war. 

Fighting to “preserve their way of living” was what his father and sister expected of him, even if he’d long ago rejected it for himself. But removing to the city from the plantation was hardly an improvement. If he’d gone north like his brother, perhaps his sister’s claws could have been yanked out. If he’d gone north, perhaps he’d have been on the right side when war came. Instead he’d let his sister walk him down to the enlistment office. 

He thought of her when he fought. He couldn’t kill enough make penance for her contrite brand of maliciousness, but maybe if he came out of this alive he could live to see her children, if she ever had any, grow up to be better than their elders. The thought kept him moving, gave him hope. He wanted to live. 

But then he was commanded to stand by while General Aerys burned escaped slaves who’d been found trying to cross the border, and he couldn’t proffer up a single valid excuse to himself. 

Aerys had claimed to have spotted a Union spy in the woods and he wanted first crack at him. Jaime had followed at a comfortable distance, knowing that this could be his one chance to stop the madness Aerys was often seeing phantoms in the woods, and Jaime knew that this time was no different. As the woods grew denser, Jaime got closer, less comfortable. Close enough to thrust his sword through Aery’s back, but not quite close enough to have spotted the flesh and blood Union soldier that Aerys has been tailing. This time it hadn’t been a hallucination. This soldier had lifted his rifle to his shoulder just as Jaime had dealt the killing blow. As a result, the shot meant for Aerys shattered Jaime’s forearm.

He cried out and tried to regain his sword with his left hand, but he fumbled it and it landed on the ground as Jaime pressed his spine against the nearest tree, in agony. The soldier stepped in front of him and kicked the blade away with his heel, and then peered down at him - his glance heated and clear and blue.

“I saw what you did,” she said - _ she! _ Jaime was sure he was dying. “He was tracking me and I finally had a clear shot to defend myself but you killed him, why?”

“You’re a woman? Of course this is how I die.”

“You’re not going to die, it’s just your arm.”

“Says the lunatic who shot me.”

“Why did you do it,” she demanded more urgently. 

“He was an evil man.”

“You saved my life.”

“I thought you were a figment of his imagination,” Jaime would have shrugged but for the excruciating pain. He slid to the ground, propped up by the tree. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not. You can make it back to your troops. Find yourself a surgeon.” 

He caught her eye - that astonishing blue gaze. “Can you stay? Stay with a dying man. It’s said that drowning makes for a peaceful death.” 

“You’re wounded, not drowning.” 

“Let me drown in your eyes.”

“You’re delirious. You must be losing a lot of blood.”

She removed his coat and he gritted his teeth, breathing through the pain as best he could. After examining the wound, she removed her own coat and fashioned a sling. He groaned seeing her form through her crisp uniform shirt, the slight narrowing of her waist... he felt himself harden absurdly at the thought of what lay beneath. It had just been too long since he’d beheld a woman that his body must be confused, he thought, even if she did have astonishing eyes. 

She worked diligently. “There. Go back to your camp like this. They’ll think you were in a shootout with Union forces and took a coat from the dead for your arm.”

“I’d be labeled a hero. But I’m not. I killed my commander.”

“You had your reasons I think, Captain...?”

“Jameson.”

“You saved my life whatever your intentions were, Captain Jameson.”

He chuckled, “Not - it’s Jaime. Jameson Lannister. Just call me Jaime.” 

“Lannister... are you...?”

“If you’re asking after the impish southern abolitionist, that would be my brother, Tyrion. The two of us share a belief system, a moral code, but only one of us was brave enough to act on it before this mess began.”

“Is that what you did today? Act on your beliefs?”

“Is there honor in stabbing a man in the back?”

“There is if the man is wicked.”

“My father would disagree.”

“Go back to your men. Tell them - tell them that you and your commander were set upon.”

“It’s my weapon. They’ll know. They won’t ask why, they’ll just string me up.”

She huffed and seemed to deliberate something rapidly in her mind until finally she put out her left hand. “Let me help you up.”

“I told you, I’m dying.”

“You’re not. You’re going to live. You saved my life and now I want to repay the debt. My camp is... not far. I’ll bring you there.”

“A prisoner? I’m sure one such as you would enjoy seeing me in irons, no thank you.”

“No, not a prisoner. I swear it. My father is the commander of the brigade. I shouldn’t have even been out here. I shouldn’t have strayed. But I had smelled your campfires and I thought if I could just get close enough maybe I could better our chances. Then I saw General Aerys and I knew it was my opportunity to upset the balance. My father will be furious when he finds I’ve gone and yes, bringing back a prisoner might assuage that, but I don’t mind his anger. I will bear it. And when I tell him that you saved my life I swear he will protect you.”

“Why are you on the front at all? What sort of father lets his daughter get so close to danger?”

“What sort of father lets any of his children do so? We’re at war, Captain Lannister. And the more people - men and women - who contribute, the quicker it can be over. Now come, before someone comes after you.”

He took her hand and let her drag him deeper into the forest until they came upon a clearing that opened up directly into General Selwyn Tarth’s camp. When he saw him, Jaime nearly ducked and ran off, but his captor held him firm. 

“General.”

“Daughter.”

“I was in the woods, I thought—“

“You didn’t think at all. You might have been killed. And now you come back with a rebel who should be in irons?”

“General, this man saved my life. If not for him, I would have been killed.”

“You were foolish, Brienne.”

_ Her name was Brienne. _

“I know it was foolish to go off, I know that. But General Aerys is dead and I am not, all thanks to Captain Lannister. I have promised him safe passage. He saved my life, we owe him that.”

Selwyn peered at him with eyes like his daughters, but dulled with age and perhaps the sight of too many deaths. “You killed Aerys, boy?”

Jaime looked at the taller man as straight on as he could, his arm throbbing. “I did. I would do it again. He was mad.”

Selwyn suddenly let out a hearty laugh, completely inappropriate for the situation. “That he was, boy.” He studied Jaime, and seemed to notice his makeshift sling for the first time. 

“Brienne, fetch a surgeon for the captain.”

“I don’t want to lose my arm.”

“They’ll do what they can. Brienne, go, he’ll be in my tent. And after you’ve done, rouse up some more of your clothes for the boy, let’s make him fit in as best we can.”

The surgeon gave Jaime a choice - keep the arm and be in pain the rest of his life, not to mention risk infection, or lose the arm at the elbow and begin healing properly. He was gripping Brienne’s hand with his left when he let them take the other.

After the next skirmish, Selwyn sent his daughter away, and Jaime with her. He believed that the next battle would be severe and he didn’t wish to risk her. And though he had one arm, Jaime would at least lend her some additional protection. This time it was Jaime dragging her away. 

They went first to the field hospital to have his arm checked for infection, and from thence they rode the train north to Boston, or in an approximation of “northbound.” Wartime meant the trains were irregular, and the journey indirect and long.

By the time they arrived at Tyion’s door, the war was nearly over. News from the front was that Selwyn had been right. And that battle had been his last. By that time, Jaime and Brienne had slept curled up on each other’s shoulder for almost three weeks, the only comfort on the long road. Tyrion offered them each a guest room in his home but he suspected correctly that one would have sufficed. They didn’t deny themselves for long. And they married days after their arrival. 

Months later they finally got word of his family through his father’s sister - the house and farmlands had been destroyed and his father and sister were presumed dead. Jaime offered his aunt a home in the north but she declined, preferring to stay in the south and help her son’s family navigate this new life and build a new home. 

Jaime never returned to the south. He was already home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Jaime is short for Jameson. That is what I call him when I'm disappointed in him, or worried about him, or concerned that he's been a blundering idiot about something. Oh, Jameson.


	9. "There is a certain taste to it." (Modern - Teacher - AU) (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While most of this collection is pretty sedate, this chapter is pure beautiful shiny smut. Porn with feelings. Brienne said "Inhibitions? What inhibitions? I'm gettin mah mans." or something. If that's not for you, we'll see you back at chapter 10, wherein I shall resume less explicit ministrations.

Jaime hadn't seen Brienne since Sansa had left. Brienne's young friend had been “encouraged to resign” from her teaching post at KLE after she accused another teacher of harassing her. Brienne had quit in solidarity and transferred to Vale with her, to run their arts program. Before that, Jaime and Brienne had been good friends - ever since that awful field trip to the zoo with the first-graders. Even if sometimes to outsiders it seemed like they were arguing, they were close. 

But then Cersei had allegedly harassed Sansa, and the lines were drawn. He knew his sister to be capable of cruelty toward her own family, but she’d always been entirely professional at work. It’s not that he didn’t believe Sansa, it was that he couldn’t see past Cersei. Unfortunately neither could Principal Kettleblack. Of course later Jaime learned that Cersei had been sleeping with the man, hence his deferment to her. 

Jaime had cried on Brienne’s last day, the remnants of his tears still in his eyes when she came to say goodbye. She never asked him to come with her, but the way she looked at him he could tell she was disappointed that he hadn’t offered to do so; that he hadn't yet figured out how to get out from under Cersei's heel. But he couldn’t. Instead he hugged her and asked her to text him when they got to Vale. Her jaw had tensed like it always did when she was holding back from saying something, but the words never came. She just quirked up one corner of her mouth and nodded. She had kissed him on the cheek, and then she was gone. 

She texted a few days later with a picture of her new classroom, draped in papier-mâché dragons and fingerprinted suns; the sword that Jaime had once drunkenly made for her out of dry pasta and glue featured prominently over the doorway. He was teaching at the time and quickly responded with a thumbs up and put the phone away, and that was the end of it. After that they only texted each other on their birthdays, exchanging thanks twice a year, for the next three years. They had been friends. Now they were hardly acquaintances. 

When he took the job at Riverrun Academy mid-year two years later, he’d wanted to call her and tell her he’d be closer now, needing to tell her why he’d finally left KLE. But he didn’t. He just kept sending birthday wishes. 

A year and a half after that, at the start of a new school year, Riverrun Academy was expecting two new arts teachers. All Jaime knew was that one of them was Dean Tully’s niece or something, who taught music, and the other was a visual arts teacher. He’d never even considered the possibility that they were arriving as a package or that it could possibly be Sansa and Brienne. 

The first day of orientation he’d walked into the art classroom where his colleagues had all gathered to meet the new arrivals and the air had completely left his lungs. There, right under the clock at the back of the room, was that stupid pasta sword. And there in the middle of a circle of his coworkers was Brienne, a head taller than all of them, her smile unchanged from years before. When she spotted him, she had blushed slightly, grinned a hello, and then eventually he had left the room having been barely acknowledged by her. 

Jaime had cried again the first second he was alone, feeling like they’d parted ways all over again. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her, how much seeing her would completely fuck with his head and his heart. And of course he could have no idea how she was feeling because he couldn’t just up and resume their friendship as if nothing had happened - but the presence of the sword made him wonder at just how much hope he had. 

The first chance he’d gotten to talk to her in the halls, she’d kept a tight smile but at least she hadn’t run away. A few days of him going out of his way to bump into her improved that even more. After a week they were waving congenially. After two he had her smirking about inside jokes in the lounge while Sansa almost cackled - she had been easier to win over, though in hindsight that could have been because she had known Brienne’s real feelings, had been living with them for three years, and was ready for the two of them to sort themselves out.

After three weeks he’d finally gotten her to laugh like old times over dinner when a group of them all went out following a half-day. He walked her back to her car that night in the darkened parking lot and the idea of kissing her suddenly came to him unbidden. She had been his friend and all he wanted to do was get his friend back. They hugged goodnight that night, and the sting of her arms around him ignited something he couldn’t name. 

From that point they settled into their old routine on the surface, teasing and arguing that always ended in laughter. Dean Tully had observed this and told Sansa that in his day that had been called flirting, and she just nodded and sipped her tea, and waited. 

In week four, Brienne had reached across the table and squeezed Jaime’s arm comfortingly in the teacher’s lounge when he’d had a rough morning trying to corral some difficult students; her hand had burnt like a brand and all the blood in his body had rushed to his groin. He willed it to calm, but it wasn’t easy. And he wound up going back to his classroom a bit late. That night he dreamt of her, and on waking he remembered that it wasn’t for the first time.

He guessed that he had wanted her since that field trip five years ago. He and half the first graders had gotten food poisoning from the boxed lunches and he’d vomited in the middle of the bear exhibit's playground. He had spent the ride back to KLE curled up on the bench with his head in her lap and her fingers stroking his hair. He had dreamt of her that night too, though at the time he’d not quite comprehended the depth of his own feelings. Denying them now was more difficult. 

They kept up their comfortable verbal sparring, and even had drinks together or dinner with a small group a few nights a week, always out, always safe. Sometimes they lingered to talk about old friends with Sansa, less often lingering without her. Always parting as friends with a hug or a kiss on the cheek that always left both of them silently wanting more. 

In week six the rainy season began, and he almost canceled on her that Friday but he hated the idea of not seeing her again until Monday. So he offered to cook. She demurred and said he shouldn’t have to cook but he insisted. She said she’d bring wine and maybe invite Sansa, which Jaime welcomed, though he never felt as free when others were around. And maybe that was for the best.

The downpour began on her drive over. Her hair soaked through on the jog from the car to the door. She was shaking it out on his porch when he opened the door and he was mesmerized by the laughter in her eyes and the way his name sounded in her mouth. His body was absolutely buzzing. She was alone, but the bottle of wine was poking out of her bag as promised. Wine would help, he thought, it would dull things and keep him from embarrassing himself, from doing something that might alter her willingness to be alone with him. Or so he thought. 

He opened the door wider to let her pass and she stopped to kiss his cheek as friends might, as they’d been doing almost daily, her hand chilly and damp on his arm. He pointed her toward the bathroom for a towel before turning from her and shutting the door. 

When he turned back around he realized she hadn’t gone anywhere. She had set her bag on the chair by the sideboard and had already stepped out of her wet shoes - this was normal - and now she was in the middle of unbuttoning her blouse revealing bare freckled skin beneath - this was outside the bounds of their normalcy.

He swallowed and put up his hands in front of him in shock, whispering her name as a question, but that was all he got out. She grabbed his proffered hands and bravely clasped them to her small breasts through the shirt before wrapping her arms around his neck and shoving him against the door, taking his mouth with hers. It was as if she was making him burn from the inside, out. He couldn’t *not* kiss her. He couldn’t *not* palm her tits. His cock couldn’t *not* react.

When they broke to catch their breath she had already moved her hands down his body and opened his fly before pushing his jeans past his hips. She yanked off his shirt and he tore hers from her shoulders - her skin was radiating - pink! - and her nipples were taut against his chest. But before he could lower his head to taste the skin of her neck or even just try to say the words “Daenerys Targaryen”, she was on her knees with her fingers under the band of his boxers, and his cock was in her mouth. He braced his hands on the door and wall trying to keep himself standing, gasping her name. 

He knew art teachers were sometimes a little eccentric, but where had this woman come from? 

She looked up and released him from her mouth with a pop, licking her lips and smirking up at him. She said his name in that low urgent tone that indicated she was serious, and told him to pull her hair. His mouth opened and closed like a confused fish and her smile got wider. He cupped her face gently and she leaned into it, her eyes daring him, and then he did what she demanded. 

That’s what he’d been doing when he came the first time - fisting her hair while his cock swelled in her throat. She swallowed while his eyes snapped shut and then she moved down to nibble and suck on his thighs while he recovered. He struggled to remain standing then but he didn’t want her to stop. Though he wasn’t sure he could have stopped her if he’d wanted to. 

He had brief moments of clarity while she peeled his jeans down the rest of the way and pulled his legs from them, moments where he thought of their friendship and how sideways this would turn things - literally horizontal. He wasn’t sure where this had all come from - if she’d been struggling with desire the same way he had of late, or whether this was the result of some other motivation - and he was afraid to ask. His body was responding to her in ways it hadn’t responded to anything in a decade, and his craving for her felt bottomless. Not too long after, he was semi hard again. He grabbed her hair again then, pulled her up to her full height, and slanted his mouth against hers, his other hand firmly at her waist.

He was pulling her hair the first time she came too, bent over his kitchen table - the nearest flat surface he could drag her to after she nipped at his neck and moaned at him to fuck her in that low serious, sexy voice - between the salad and the mashed potatoes, crying only the first syllable of his name over and over while he dug the fingers of his free hand into her hip and pounded her, their thighs reddening as they slapped against each other. 

It was almost like he’d won some kind of contest that she’d signed him up for but never told him about. When she screamed and came, he kept rocking into her, and waited until her shocks had subsided before he pulled out still hard and spun her to face him. She kissed him gently, eyes clear and lids heavy, and he had never wanted anything so badly as the way he wanted to taste her in this moment. He took both her hands in his and walked backwards to his bedroom, his eyes searching hers for answers she had yet to reveal. When he paused at the bed, his mouth open to ask why, and his hands dropping to his sides, she reached for him and kissed him and begged him not to stop touching her.

So instead he laid down with his head near the edge of the bed and pulled her toward him, encouraging her to climb up. She didn’t wait to be asked twice. She knelt around his head and gasped when he reached up around her thighs and held her against his mouth. She panted and mewled when he licked around her entrance and she nearly jumped when he sank his tongue into her. When she came that second time, his arms immobilized her legs and she came so hard that he had to work quickly to lap up all her honey and even then he could feel it dripping down his neck as she shook and squeezed around him. 

He was still hard and aching and would have gladly taken care of himself now that he’d seen her off so thoroughly, but she had other ideas. Before he could push her off of him, she bent over his torso and reached for his cock. She had him pinned to the bed. He could feel her tongue, her hands, he could feel her hair whispering across his hip when she took him in her mouth again. And then she was fucking herself on his tongue and moaning her satisfaction around his cock, and it was too much for him to hold off any longer. 

He reached up and gripped her ass, holding her to him, and sucked her clit between his teeth. When he came this time, she was there with him. She pulled him from her lips to scream his name and painted a Pollack across her tits as she stroked him through his end. He drank her honey til he thought he might drown in it. 

An hour or two later he woke to find her, sticky with his spend, curled up against him on the bed with her mouth tracing overlapping patterns across his chest. He cradled her to him then, running his fingers lightly through her hair and tilting her face to his, so many questions still in his eyes. 

She asked him if it was midnight yet and he said it was, then he asked if she was going to turn into a pumpkin. She smirked and kissed his chin saying no, but you are. And then Happy 40th, Jaime. He had until that moment completely forgotten that his birthday was coming, and tonight she had made him feel positively 25 again. He stared at her and asked if that meant that this was a once a year thing he’d been missing out for for the last three years. She blushed hard and he ran a warm hand up and down her arm. She worried at her bottom lip and looked up at him with more shyness that he would have imagined her capable of after the last couple of hours. And then she asked if that’s what he would prefer - that it just be once a year. 

He flipped her onto her back then and kissed her hard. She hummed into his mouth and anchored a hand in his hair. When he pulled away, he dragged her arms up one at a time and pinned her wrists to the bed, determined to get answers. He asked her what if that wasn’t what he preferred? Most importantly what did she prefer? What if he had dreamt of her and had no wish to go back to reality? How long had she felt like this? 

To the latter she said she’d wanted him forever but that she had been terrified of his sister back at KLE. And when she left and they never talked she thought it for the best - silence had made the distance easier. But when she got to Riverrun and she saw him that first time, she had been screaming inside. 

Sansa had tried to convince her to go over to his place that very first night in Riverrun. To talk, Sansa had said, but Brienne knew what Sansa meant. Sansa knew how Brienne felt and Brienne, not wanting to make assumptions about his feelings, had told her no. After a couple of weeks of their old flirting routine, she figured he felt the way she did, or at least something like it, but she had been afraid. She didn’t want to fall into bed with him, have him realize it wasn’t good, spend time compensating for that, and then have nothing surprising to pull out for his birthday which had been relatively soon. So she’d made herself wait and instead use all the bells and whistles to stun him on his birthday in the hopes of distracting him from what she believed to be a boring daily sexual repertoire. 

She hadn’t really planned on jumping him when she got there that night - she'd thought that the wine would give her courage and that she could work up to it. But then she’d seen his face when she shook her hair out on the porch, and she felt her cunt betray her and then she hadn’t been able to get out of her clothes quickly enough. 

He assured her that her plan had worked - he was sufficiently stunned, and he was the one who should be compensating, making up for lost time. He said all this as he moved down her neck with his mouth, spreading her thighs with his knees, and then reaching down to stroke beneath her curls. 

He wanted to watch her face when she came for him. He’d wanted to watch the blush on her body spread and darken past her shirt collar and down her chest for at least three of the last six weeks, and he told her as much. And oh how it spread from there, darkening the freckles in its path. 

He asked her what she wanted, and she said him. So he slid a finger into her. He asked if she just wanted him twice a year on their birthdays, and she keened a no. He added a finger and started twisting into her; the heel of his hand tapping against her clit. She yelped and arched her back, and he finally got to taste her nipples, drawing them to peaks. He mouthed her chest, tasting himself there - there is a certain taste to it - briny and slick, the result of her efforts. He ran his tongue back up her neck, tasting the salt there that was purely her. Finally he asked her if she had dreamt of this, and she bit down on her lip and moaned out a desperate yes. 

He rose on his knees and used his free hand to push one thigh open more as he sped up with the other. She shouted his name and he felt her clenching around his fingers. He quickly removed them and spread her wider, and then slammed into her as she started to come with a shriek, her jerking hips met his thrusts, her tight cunt gripping him greedily as they grunted each other’s names and came apart together.

When he woke the second time it had been a few hours, they were on their sides and she was curled up around his back, the big spoon, her hand on his heart. 

They spent the rest of the weekend intertwined, rarely parting for more than a couple of minutes and then usually reuniting with some part of one inside the other. They never opened the wine. And by the time Monday rolled around, they had more than made up for all of the missed birthdays, Christmases, Valentine's Days, and even Halloweens, and Sansa was encouraged to look for a new roommate. 


	10. "Listen, I can't explain it, you'll have to trust me." (Modern AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now resume your regularly-scheduled fluff (ALSO OMG I finally wrote something under 1000 words)

“I think you and my brother would get along,” Tyrion was saying as they rode the escalator up from the conference center to the lobby floor. “Maybe get along is the wrong phrasing… hit it off?” Brienne looked at him dubiously. “I mean literally, you might find yourself wanting to hit him.”

Brienne chuckled. “Tyrion, I told you, I’m sort of seeing someone.”

“What does that mean, precisely?”

She huffed a sigh. “It means I’m not looking to be set up with your brother right now.”

Tyrion put on a mock expression of hurt, “I would never!... but if you’re going to change your mind, do it quickly - my brother is a very desirable bachelor, and I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the opportunity to be my sister-in-law.”

“Tyrion, really.” 

They reached the lobby level and hung a left toward the bar. They had left the last general session early in the hopes of securing space at the hotel bar for themselves before it got crowded with the younger conference attendees who tended to overcrowd it early in the evening. 

“Have I ever even met your brother?”

“You would know if you had. Devastatingly handsome, great hair, all the good genes that seemed to have avoided me. You wouldn’t be able to resist him if you had met him.”

“I’ve met a lot of people, Tyrion - maybe I’ve met him and just didn’t know he was your brother.”

“No no,” said Tyrion, settling into a stool at the corner of the bar while Brienne hung her briefcase on a hook beneath, “my brother always makes his last name known. He’s a Lannister through and through.”

“All the more reason for me not to date him,” she said teasingly.

“Hey!”

Brienne snorted and ordered them each a martini, then turned back to Tyrion. “So what does this brother of yours look like? You said devastatingly handsome - devastating to whom? To others or himself--”

“Wow, Brienne.”

“--or to buildings? Does his face burn down forests? What’s the situation there?”

Tyrion was laughing, “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me. He’s just… very good looking. Tall - almost as tall as you. Perfect skin. Have I mentioned that I hate him?” 

She smiled and took a sip of her water. “Well do you have a picture?”

“I thought you said you weren’t interested because you’re ‘sort of seeing someone’,” he added with air quotes. 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not curious. Is he on social media? Could you pull up an embarrassing picture of him from the eighth grade or something? One with acne and braces maybe?”

“Brienne… I’m not going to do that if  _ only _ because I don’t want to make you feel bad about dating an adult who just isn’t as attractive as my brother was as a teenager.”

“Tyrion!” Brienne was shaking with laughter and had to set her recently-arrived cocktail back on the bar to keep from spilling it halfway to her mouth. “So he’s incredibly handsome but somehow single?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s a snob.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said he’d never introduce himself without his full name.”

“That doesn’t make him a snob… though I guess in his case, sure okay, snob, yes.”

“Why would I want to date him?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “You’re right, you wouldn’t. My mistake. Please carry on being too tall and aloof for the rest of us mere mortals.”

Brienne laughed aloud and patted Tyrion on the shoulder. “It’s okay Tryion. I’m sure you’ll find a home for your sad stray absurdly attractive brother yet.”

Tyrion giggled a little, and toasted her, and they drank. Just then Brienne felt an arm around her waist and she set the glass down to turn on the stool, her face glowing. “Jaime, hi.” She kissed him, and he leaned into her. 

He broke the kiss and breathed her in, “I missed you. How were your sessions?”

“Good, good. Um, Jaime this--”

She turned to Tyrion whose jaw was nearly unhinged. He looked from Brienne to Jaime to Brienne again. 

“Tyrion are you okay?”

Tyrion blinked a handful of times and then shook his head quickly as if to clear it. “What was it you were just saying to me, Brienne? Ah yes, I believe you were about to introduce me to my very own sad, stray, absurdly attractive brother.” 

Brienne’s face snapped back to Jaime, who looked sheepishly at Tyrion. 

“Hey Tyrion - didn’t know you’d be here, too.”

“You’re… his brother. Did you know we worked together?”

Jaime turned his sheepish glance to Brienne and tightened his arm around her ever so slightly. “Yeah.. No… I knew you worked for the same company but I didn’t realize you like...  _ worked  _ worked together.”

“Wait, wait - Tyrion.” Brienne looked back at him accusingly, “You just told me that your brother would only ever introduce himself with his full name, that he was all Lannister.”

“Yes, well--”

She turned to Jaime, “But you…” Her confusion melted into affection at the sight of his thinly veiled embarrassment. “You never said -- you said to call you Jaime, just… just Jaime.” 

Jaime’s mouth quirked up at the corner, “Yeah well… I like you… I didn’t think you’d go out with me if I flashed my family name around - you’re… well you seemed more honorable than that.”

She fingered the lapels of his blazer and quirked a smile back at him, her eyes only for him. “Right answer.”

“Well,” said Tyrion to neither and yet both of them from his forgotten corner, “I guess I should stop trying to set you up with people.” 

Brienne and Jaime both responded, “yes,” without looking at him, then leaned in and kissed again.

Tyrion turned away and lifted his glass to himself, “In any case I was right,” before downing the rest of the contents.


	11. "It's not always like this." (Modern AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not feeling great and I'm behind a day, so I've kept this short. It's pretty silly.

Brienne rounded the corner and cringed. She’d been here before and knew what the price would be. She counted out the loose bills. One more mistake like this and she’d need to mortgage every one of her houses. 

The old man reached out expectantly. She sighed and paid him, straightening out her remaining cash. She felt her boyfriend’s hand brush her thigh, and she reached down to take it. He squeezed comfortingly, a pitying glance on his face. 

“Sorry about this.” 

“It’s fine,” she assured him, “there’s no accounting for chance. What’s done is done. I should have been more careful with my money in the first place.”

“Yes, you should have,” said the old man. 

Jaime caught her glance and rolled his eyes, which made her smile at least. 

“It’s not always like this,” he said with a toss of the dice.

“No,” came a dry fourth voice from her right, “it’s usually worse. Usually dad’s got hotels up on every corner of the board by now - but adding another player, that’s made a difference I’ve noticed, slowed down his takeover. Can’t pick up Park Place if someone else has it first huh, dad?”

Brienne grinned, dusting her chest with a faint blush.

Tywin glowered at Tyrion. “I confess it’s been harder to diversify my holdings when there are more players, but I’m still winning - Jaime, welcome to Indiana Avenue. With three houses on that property, your rent for this stay is $700 of your remaining $1200.”

“Dad, keeping track of other people’s money is rude.” He handed over the bills and slipped his remaining $500 bill under the lip of the board.

“Know thy enemy, Jaime.” Tywin gleefully added the new bills to his bank. 

Brienne reached for Jaime’s hand again. “Not always like this?”

Jaime grinned and stroked her hand, feeling the smooth skin at the base of her third finger, and sighed. Win or lose, he was pretty sure he’d be covering that spot before the night was out. That is, so long as Tywin didn’t require the ring in his pocket as collateral the next time Jaime owed him rent.


	12. "What if I don't see it?" (Army!Brienne AU)

“Are the kids asleep?”

“Yeah,” Jaime exhaled visibly into the night air and tucked his phoneless hand under his armpit, “Joanna fought me a bit. She misses her mom.”

“Her mom misses her too. And Gal?”

Jaime smiled into the phone, “You know your son’s an angel.” 

Brienne huffed, “It took both of us, Jaime.”

“Oh, I remember.”

“Jaaimmeee…”

“I miss you too, Brienne.”

“I’ll be home soon.”

“Two weeks, right?"

Brienne sighed heavily. “I know it was supposed to be two more weeks but--”

“--but? Another postponement?” He could almost hear her biting her lip. “Brienne?”

“They’re saying six weeks now.”

Jaime sighed and sat down on porch steps. He’d insisted on painting the porch blue like her eyes the summer that Joanna was born, but he’d never sealed it correctly. Now the boards were weathered and worn, soft. It was home. But she wasn’t there. 

Her deployment was only supposed to last six months - she was there as a favor while one of the army’s best field doctors was on maternity leave. The hospital had been reluctant to let her take the sabbatical, but when the call had come from the Vice President, they’d changed their ruling. But six had become seven early on. And then seven and a half. Another six weeks would mean she’d have been gone nine months - half again the original plan. 

He missed her every minute of the day. 

He worried about her every minute of the day. 

“I’m okay, Jaime. You don’t need to cry.”

He wiped the tears that had started slipping from his eyes and sniffed. 

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He sighed again. “Brienne, it’s December 1st.”

“I know.”

“You should be home with the kids for Christmas--"

“I know, Jaime.”

"--home with me. Brienne... I miss you so much. I want you here. I want to wake up with you again. I hate this."

She sniffed on the other end of the line. "I've missed you so much, Jaime."

He swallowed hard and shivered. "Come home, Brienne."

A pause. “You’re outside?”

He shivered again. “Yeah.”

“So look up. Look for our bear.”

He sniffed again and grinned to himself. “Are you looking, too.”

“I’m looking, too.”

“Good.”

He peered into the sky, scanning the star formations. She was always better at this than he was, had more of a talent for it. 

“Do you see it yet?”

“Not yet, do you?”

“Yes, I think… I think I see it.”

He kept scanning, but he couldn’t pick out the familiar shape. “What if I don’t see it? Do you have a back-up constellation we could wish on together?”

A pause again. “You'll see it, Jaime.”

“Any idea which way I should be looking?” He could feel errant tears starting to freeze on his cheek. 

“This time of evening, it should be… not too far above the horizon, but high enough. It’ll be in the east.”

“East...east…” he muttered to himself. “Help me out, Brie. Which way is east?”

She let out a low chuckle. “You really do need me there, huh?”

“If Jo was awake she could probably tell me.”

“Oh, well in that case--”

“--Brie, please. It’s freezing.” He could hear her smile on the other end of the line. 

“The house faces east. If you’re on the porch, just look straight ahead.”

He did. 

And he almost dropped the phone. 

And then he was whispering her name, and then shouting it as he catapulted down the steps

She was there, right there, standing by their front gate with her pack on her shoulder and a wide toothy smile on her face, and the happiest of tears in her eyes. 

She was home.


	13. "I never knew it could be this way." (Sense and Sensibility Adaptation - Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright listen. This was just going to be a very short little passage from Sense and Sensibility adapted for ASOIAF/GOT characters and then it just got away from me. It ran. It fucking ran. So now it's the first five chapters of Sense and Sensibility adapted for Brienne and Jaime. I know what you're thinking - WTF? My answer to that is... IDK. I honestly thought I was going to be shoehorning Brienne into this thing and I have to say she's been much more cooperative than I ever imagined. A word of warning - I don't know that I will pick this up again at any point. I 'm not making any promises. I love SandS and I love GOT and I REALLY love the world that I've mashed them into but I don't know if it's sustainable. So... I guess please don't get too attached? But if you like it, let me know! I was gonna do something else for NaNoWriMo but if this is pleasant for people maybe I'll do this instead? Please please please comment whatever your feelings because that will help me know if this is something that other people will enjoy or if this is unique to me, and I should put it to bed. Thank you all for reading "Put Me Back Together" thus far. I hope to not go as crazy for the rest of the month.

***

The Stark Family had long been settled in the North. Winterfell, their estate, was large. And for many generations they had lived respectably, earning the good opinion of their neighbors. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ned Stark had no sons, only three daughters; one, product of his first marriage, who was of an age to be wed, and two others by his present lady. With luck, his daughters could beget sons during Ned’s life, and he might thereby amend the inheritance. In the meantime, the estate was entailed away to his cousin and best friend from childhood, Mr. Robert Baratheon who had improved on his already considerable wealth, in marriage. To him therefore the inheritance was not so really important as it was to Ned’s daughters.

Ned might reasonably hope to live many years and to save a considerable sum for his family should he pass before a male issue came. Regretfully, he passed within a year of inheriting Winterfell; and the sum of ten thousand dragons was all that remained for his family.

Robert was sent for as soon as Ned’s illness was known, and to him Ned recommended, with all the urgency which illness could command, the interest of Catelyn and the girls. Robert promised to do everything in his power to make them comfortable. Ned was made easy, and Robert had then time to consider how much precisely was in his power. 

***

No sooner was Ned’s funeral over, than Robert’s wife Cersei, without sending any notice of her intention, arrived with her child and their servants. No one could dispute her right to come; but the indelicacy of her conduct, and her ability to act with so little attention to the comfort of other people made things highly unpleasing. So acutely did Catelyn feel this ungracious behaviour that she would have quit the house immediately, had not the entreaty of her husband’s eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going.

Brienne, this eldest daughter, possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment (according to her father, she had inherited these characteristics from her late mother, who had died in childbirth); these qualified her, though only nineteen, to be Catelyn’s counsellor and to counteract that eagerness of mind which otherwise could lead to imprudence. She had an excellent heart and was affectionate of disposition, but she knew how to govern her feelings, however strong, as evidenced in her disciplined pursuits - riding, archery, even fencing. Her father had supported these in acknowledgement of her departed mother’s interests. Her strength of character and ability to control her emotions was a skill that her stepmother and sisters had resolved never to learn. 

At sixteen, Sansa's abilities were, in some respects, equal to Brienne's. She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything. The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great. Brienne saw, with concern, that she and Catelyn encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction. Brienne, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could exert herself for propriety and could strive to rouse her stepmother to similar exertion, and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Arya, the youngest sister, was a good-humored, well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal of both Sansa’s romance and Brienne’s quiet guardedness, she was a bit wild and spent much time in trees. 

***

Cersei Baratheon now installed herself mistress of Winterfell; and the Stark women were degraded to the condition of visitors. As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility. Robert had resolved to make a gift of three thousand dragons for the girls as the measure of support he had promised Ned. But Cersei did not at all approve. To take three thousand dragons from the fortune of their dear boy would be akin to impoverishing him. She begged him to think again on the subject. Why was he to ruin himself, and their poor little Joffrey, by giving away all his money to strangers?

“It strikes me that they can want no money at all,” said she, “for they will have ten thousand dragons divided amongst them. If they marry, they will be sure of doing well - Sansa shall, at least - and if they do not, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten thousand dragons."

“I believe you are right, my love; whatever I may give them occasionally will be of far greater assistance. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty dragons, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for money, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to Ned."

"To be sure it will. I am convinced within myself that Ned Stark had no idea of your giving them any money at all. Indeed, it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did. They will be much more able to give _ you _ something." In the end, Robert insisted that Catelyn and the girls stay on at Winterfell until they could find a suitable home; in doing so, he saw his promise as kept.

***

They remained at Winterfell several months. Catelyn was impatient to be gone, and untiring in her inquiries for a suitable home in the neighbourhood. But she could not find a situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and ease which also suited the budget as Brienne had laid out for them.

The contempt which she had early-on felt for Robert’s wife was very much increased by prolonged acquaintance with her character. Catelyn might have insisted on leaving sooner, Brienne’s prudence by damned, had not a particular circumstance arisen. That is, there was growing attachment between Brienne, and Cersei’s brother, a proud young man whose gentlemanly qualities were at first in question, though they improved upon acquaintance, who was introduced to their household soon after his sister's establishment at Winterfell, and who had since spent the majority of his time there; most of it was spent at Brienne’s side.

Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of interest, for Mr. Lannister was the eldest son of a man who was very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence, for the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his father. But Catelyn was uninfluenced by either. She thought only of Brienne’s happiness. It was enough that he was honorable, that he had an affection for her stepdaughter, and that Brienne returned the partiality. 

Mr. Jaime Lannister was not recommended to their good opinion by any particular graces of person or address. He was handsome to be sure, but his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was proud, yet almost too shy to do himself justice; but when his natural shyness was overcome - most obviously when he was not in the company of his sister, but most pronounced when he was with Brienne - his behaviour gave every indication of an open, loyal heart. But he fitted neither by abilities nor disposition to answer the wishes of his father and sister, who longed to see him distinguished in the world. His father wished to interest him in political concerns. Cersei wished it likewise, though perhaps not so lofty as to take him away from her influence. But all of Jaime’s wishes centered in more earthly things. He spoke of farming as oft as he spoke of military pursuits. He preferred riding a horse to driving a barouche, and it had nothing to do with the knowledge of how fine a figure he cut whilst riding. 

Jaime had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged much of Catelyn’s attention; she saw only that he was tall and quiet in the presence of others. He did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind. She was first called to observe and approve him farther quite by accident when the sharp strange sound of steel clashing in the garden caught her ear. When she made her way thence, she was surprised - not to see Brienne clad in breeches, or even to see her sparring with Cersei’s brother, but by Brienne’s smile - a sight she’d not seen in many moons. 

***

Catelyn now took pains to get acquainted with him. She speedily comprehended all his merits as well as his faults, but the persuasion of his regard for Brienne perhaps assisted in disregarding the latter; she felt assured of his worth: and even his reserve, which went against all her established ideas of what a young man's mien should be, was no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm toward her girl. She considered their attachment as certain, and looked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching.

"In a few months, my dear Sansa." said she, "Brienne will, in all probability be settled for life. We shall miss her; but she will be happy."

"Perhaps," said Sansa, "I may consider it with some surprise. Mr. Lannister is very handsome and amiable, but yet there is something wanting. He would rather speak of horses and swordplay than anything approaching artistry. Though he admires Brienne's drawings very much, he admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united. Oh! mama, how spiritless was Mr. Lannister's manner in reading to us last night! I felt for my sister most severely. Brienne has not my feelings, and therefore she may overlook it, and be happy with him. But it would have broken my heart, had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.”

"Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen. It is yet too early in life to despair of such a happiness."

***

"What a pity it is, Brienne," said Sansa that evening, "that Mr. Lannister should have no taste for reading."

"No taste for reading!" replied Brienne, "He read himself the other night. It is true, he prefers other activities, and he is not a great reader - he confided in me that it… challenges him at times. But he has an innate simplicity of taste, which helps direct him. I hope, Sansa, you do not judge him for this. Indeed, I think you cannot now I’ve explained it. Promise me that you will be civil with him.”

Sansa hardly knew what to say. At length she replied: "Do not be offended, Brienne, if my praise of him is not in everything equal to your sense of his merits. I promise I have the highest opinion in the world of his honor.”

"Of his honor, no one can, I think, be in doubt,” Brienne said quickly, “He and I have been at times thrown a good deal together. I have heard his opinions and, upon the whole, I find him well-informed, his imagination lively, his observation just.” She took Sansa’s hands in hers. “You will agree that, at first sight, my own address is certainly not striking, and my person can hardly be called handsome, yet he has had occasion to call the expression of my eyes... uncommonly good.”

“Uncommonly good? Tell me he used those words again, and I shall indeed change my mind about my civility toward him.”

“No, indeed. He called them… he said they were astonishing… in their similarity to a flower - I’ve mislaid the name. But certainly that meets your demands? He has his pride, Sansa, but the general sweetness of his countenance is easily perceived.”

"When you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall indeed think him sweet, Brienne.”

Brienne started at this declaration. "I do not attempt to deny," said she, "that I think very highly of him—that I greatly esteem, that I like him."

"Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Brienne! Oh! worse than cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again, and I will leave the room this moment."

“Be assured that I meant no offence to your sensibilities by speaking so quietly of my own feelings. In truth, I never knew it could be this way. Believe my feelings to be stronger than I have declared. But farther than this you must not believe. In my heart I feel scarcely any doubt of his preference. But there are other points to be considered besides his inclination. He is far from being independent. His sister and father wish a great deal for him, and I am very much mistaken if Mr. Lannister is not himself aware that there would be many difficulties in his way, if he were to wish to marry a woman who had neither a great fortune nor a high rank, and not even agreeable looks."

Sansa was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother and herself had outstripped the truth."And you really are not engaged to him!" said she. "Yet it certainly soon will happen. You are so alike, Brienne. You have the same affinity for activity and thought. Trust his feelings as you trust your own. The only thing I am glad for, in your not being promised to him yet, is that I will have greater opportunity to know him and be assured of your future felicity.”

Brienne could not consider her partiality for Jaime in so prosperous a state as Sansa and Catelyn had believed it. There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which, if it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost as unpromising - some hesitation or doubt. She knew that his father neither opened his home to Jaime at present, nor gave him any assurance that he might form one for himself, without strictly attending to his wishes. With such a knowledge as this, it was impossible for Brienne to feel easy on the subject. The longer they were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more than friendship. But then he would seemingly stumble across her in the library or in the gardens and in the next moment they’d be suiting up to spar. She flattered herself to judge that it was only when he was with her that he seemed truly at ease, and happy. His regard at those times seemed limitless.

***

But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived by his sister, to make her uneasy, and to increase her incivility. She took the first opportunity of confronting Catelyn Stark on the occasion, talking to her so expressively of her brother's great expectations, of Tywin Lannister's resolution that all his children should marry well, and of the danger attending any young woman who attempted to draw her brother in; Catelyn could neither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to be calm. She gave Cersei an answer which marked her contempt, and then instantly left the room, resolving that, whatever might be the inconvenience or expense of so sudden a removal, her Brienne should not be exposed another week to such insinuations.

In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the post, which contained a proposal particularly well-timed. It was the offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a cousin of hers, a gentleman of consequence and property in the Riverlands. The whole of his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of those she currently depended upon. 

She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her resolution was formed as she read. The situation of Riverrun Park, in a county so far distant from the North as the Riverlands, which, but a few hours before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first recommendation. She instantly wrote Edmure Tully her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal; and then hastened to show both letters to her daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her answer was sent.

Brienne had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle at some distance from Winterfell. On that head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her stepmother's intention of removing into the Riverlands. The house as described by Mr. Tully, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought her any joy in her current state of uncertainty, she made no attempt to dissuade Catelyn from sending a letter of acquiescence.

***

No sooner was the letter dispatched, than Catelyn indulged herself in the pleasure of announcing to the Baratheons that she should inconvenience them for not much longer. Cersei said nothing; but her husband civilly hoped that she would not be settled far from Winterfell. She had great satisfaction in replying that she was going into the Riverlands.

Jaime turned hastily towards her, his voice full of surprise and concern, and repeated, "The Riverlands! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence! And to what part of it?" She explained the situation, describing Riverrun Park and its position along the Green Fork. She watched Jaime absorb the information and then turn his eyes to Brienne.

Catelyn concluded with a very kind invitation to Robert and Cersei to visit her. To Jaime she gave one with greater affection. To separate Jaime and Brienne was as far from being her object as ever; and she wished to show Cersei how totally she disregarded her disapprobation of the match.

***

The furniture was all sent ahead. It chiefly consisted of household linen, plate and china, with a handsome pianoforte of Sansa's. Cersei saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not help feeling that as Catelyn’s income would be so trifling in comparison with their own, she should have any handsome article of furniture. Their man and one of two maids were sent off immediately into the Riverlands, to prepare the house for their mistress's arrival. 

Catelyn took the house for a twelvemonth. No difficulty arose on either side in the agreement; and she waited only for the disposal of her effects at Winterfell before she set off for the south; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the performance of everything that interested her, was soon done, though she dawdled for two days longer than necessary in order to give Jaime and Brienne more time together. 

They spent the majority of their afternoons walking the fields just beyond the garden away, by design, from Cersei’s prying. Brienne would have been contented with the library and gardens and their usual routine, but Jaime had insisted. There were still moments where he was all too quiet and Brienne was certain that he was preparing to clear the air with the secrets he was harboring, and make more firm his lack of regard for her. But in the next, he would be pressing her hand or smiling at her in that way he had only done before with foil flashing.

***

In a very few weeks from the day which brought Edmure Tully’s first letter to Winterfell, everything was so far settled in their future abode as to enable Catelyn and the girls to begin their journey.

Many were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place so much beloved. "Dear, dear Winterfell!" said Sansa, as she wandered alone before the house, on the last evening of their being there; "when shall I cease to regret you!—And who will remain to enjoy you?"

That same eve, Brienne went to the stables to visit to her favorite mare, which Catelyn had sold to Robert when keeping her proved unnecessary and unsustainable for their new life. Brienne was brushing her when the door opened and Jaime appeared out of the darkness, his hair bright, catching the light of her lantern. His look was solemn, and Brienne wondered if the hour of his confession had finally come. But he smiled and pulled a small book from behind his back and offered it to her. 

She took it and studied the lettering on the spine, fingering the worn edges of the indigo cover in surprise. “This was my mother’s.”

“So you told me.”

She smiled, “You remembered.” He nodded sheepishly. “My father kept it in his study in the home I grew up in. When we moved here, he added it to the library thinking it would be kept in the family.” Jaime stepped forward and laid a hand on hers comfortingly, warm, “He used to read to me from it - stories of princesses and merfolk and knights… all of them with happy endings.” She stayed the tears forming in her eyes, and firmed her resolve. She slipped the book back into his hand. “Take it. Take it back. I wouldn’t want to lose track of it between now and morning. It belongs to your sister now.”

“Brienne…” he took her other hand and secured it around the book so that all four of their hands clasped it together. “It’s yours. It will always be yours. She won’t miss it. And even if she did, I would own it, for I was the one who took it. You’re leaving enough behind. I don’t wish for you to part with something so dear.” His hands were warm on hers and of them was trembling though she couldn’t tell if it were Jaime or herself or both. She nodded and he let go, his fingers whispering against the backs of her hands. “May I walk you back to the house?”

Brienne looked from him back to the mare whom she had abandoned on Jaime’s arrival. “I haven’t finished my goodbyes.” Jaime looked somewhat sad but he nodded understanding, and turned to go. “Jaime - “ he stopped and turned back to her, something shining in his eyes“ - we did not gather as usual after supper tonight.” She held out the book, “Will you read to me?” He grinned, a shadow of his usual smile, and took it. Then he sat on the stool by the door and slowly read her a well-traversed tale of knights and dragons while she worked until the horse’s coat shone. 

***

The next morning, Robert and Jaime saw the Stark women off. Cersei claimed a headache and stayed abed. Jaime handed each of the women into the hired carriage. He lifted Arya into it, setting the eight-year-old giggling; then Catelyn who kissed his cheek like an affectionate aunt; then Sansa who, grasped his shoulders dramatically and wished him well; and finally Brienne. He handed her into the carriage, and then she reached her arm out of the window so that he might shake it. Instead, while Robert engaged the others from the other side of the carriage, Jaime looked up at her sadly and pressed her hand harder than she expected, and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “Goodbye… Miss Stark.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Lannister.” 

He silently mouthed “Jaime” and she nodded before her hand retreated back into the carriage. He set a smile on his face - the kind he maintained in mixed company - and joined Robert on the opposite side of the carriage, and from there the two waved them off as the Stark women drove away from Winterfell. 

***

They would travel four days to reach Riverrun. On the third night they were stopped at an inn and Brienne was alone while her stepmother and sisters finished supper below. She drew the indigo book out of the reticule she kept on her person. The edges seemed more worn, more loved, than she remembered. She settled onto the bed to read one of her favorite passages when she noticed that something almost the color of the cover seemed to be tucked into the pages about a third of the way through the book. 

She carefully parted the pages to that spot and there, carefully pressed, was a cluster of five-pointed blue blossoms with yellow starbursts at the center of each. They marked in the book her favorite tale - that of Ser Galladon of Morne. And the blossoms themselves were the exact shade of her eyes. She’d been avoiding the truth when she told Sansa that she couldn’t recall the name of the flower Jaime had compared them to - she hadn’t wanted to inspire her sister’s romantic notions. But presented with them now, and in the privacy of her solitude, she could not deny her own notions. For if he’d meant to express indifference, why send her away with the book? And why press forget-me-nots between the pages?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've relied heavily on Jane Austen for the order of operations as well as some text & language. I bow down to her. And the stable scene was definitely subconsciously borrowed from Emma Thompson and Ang Lee but I didn't even realize that had happened until after I finished it - obviously the scenes are v different, but still. A horse is horse.
> 
> UPDATE: Check out Part 2 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50235191).


	14. "I can't come back." (Indiana Jones AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adapted from Raiders of the Lost Ark, some of that script used, but mostly not. Also Marion's bar in Raiders is literally the Raven Saloon so how could I not???
> 
> Guys, I can't help myself.

A huge raven, inexplicably with three eyes, is mounted behind the bar on the usually lively Three-Eyed Raven Saloon in the middle of nowhere, north of the wall. Wildlings and men of the Night’s Watch huddle here nightly from the cold, mingling inside where outside those doors they would be mortal enemies - or at least, certainly not friendly on most days. Most of their differences were settled long ago. 

Behind the bar is Brienne Tarth - thirty, straw-blonde hair, scarred, eyes blue enough to rival a mythical white walker, and tall - very tall. She’s no-nonsense at best, and a pain in the ass at worst, but the patrons appreciate her. The one time a wildling tried to bring up some beef with the Night’s Watch, she had physically removed all of those involved herself. She was built - she would joke, when she joked, that it was from being a barback for the original owners - the Starks, long gone - but really she had just been made that way. And physical exertion had kept it up.

Brienne had just finished kicking the last of the drunken wildlings out for the night when she noticed one last patron huddled over a tankard at the far end of the bar. Exasperated, she walked toward him with purpose. “Hey you, you deaf? It’s closing time - this ain’t the Long Night, get the--”

Jaime looked up from beneath the brim of his hat and smirked at her - gods, it was good to see her, and Brienne stopped short, shocked. 

“Hello, Brienne.”

Then she hit him. Knocked him right off his stool. Just like he deserved. He sat up, his smile infinitely wider. 

“Nice to see you, too.”

“Get out.” She wasn’t smiling.

Jaime held out his prosthetic hand in defense while using the other to boost himself from the ground. 

“Take it easy, I’m looking for your boss.” He wasn’t. But he thought she’d be easier on him if Sansa was between them when he asked her for what he’d come for.

Brienne snorted. “Well, you’re a year too late. Sansa’s dead. Arya too”

Jaime was stunned. Six years ago he and Brienne had promised to help Catelyn Stark’s girls find their way back north. And then Catelyn had died and the situation had gotten dire in the city, so he’d sent Brienne to do it - to find them, swear her sword to them as it were. He thought she’d be safe. It was as much for their sake as for hers. He hadn’t parted with any of the Starks on the friendliest of terms, but this was distressing. He perched back on the righted stool and leaned heavily on the bar. “What happened?”

Brienne shook her head. “There was an uprising north of here. Something to do with their brothers. They never found them but… word is they’re dead. They didn’t come back.”

She turned back to the bar and popped the cap off of a cheap whisky bottle. She didn’t want to think about the Starks. She didn’t want to think about how Jaime had cursed her by sending her after them, and how they had in turn they’d dragged her up here to the north and then vanished.

“Why are you still here? Why not go back to Tarth, or at least somewhere that’s not… this?”

She shrugged, throwing back a second shot, “I can’t come back. There’s nothing for me. Besides, this? It grows on you.”

Jaime looks at her, shivering. Remembering how her skin would pink and freckle even more in the sun; now her freckles seemed to be in hiding, her skin pink from the cold. Always pink with her - one of the most feminine things about her. Under his gaze, she blushed, and Jaime ticked off in his mind a third shade.

“I’ll tell you something, Jaime. I hated you for sending me after them alone.” She swallowed hard. “And I hated leaving.” Momentarily she softens, but then the hard shell is back. “I always wished you'd show up some day. But why now?”

Jaime toyed with his sleeve before answering her. “I need Oathkeeper.”

Brienne’s eyes go icier than ever; the truth of his visit stung. She swung for his jaw again, but he caught her; his false hand wasn’t much of a defense, so she was able to slap him with the other. Her stomach churned at the idea of using his weakness - something he only had because of her - against him, but that’s exactly what he was doing now to her. “You asshole. You know what you did to me, to my life? This,” she gestured to the bar, to the raven, “is your fault. And now you’ve come to take back… no.”

Jaime swallows hard and releases her hand, which he hadn’t realized he was still gripping. “I never meant--”

“You sent me away --”

“You were very capable.”

“I was in...” She stops herself and takes a sip straight from the bottle. 

“Brienne… maybe if we could work together…”

“Why start now? You didn’t care about working together then. You only cared about sending me on a fool’s errand.”

Jaime sighs. “I could pay you for it - for the sword.”

The ice in Brienne’s stare turns to flames, and she bites out her words, “I. don’t. Have. it.”

“You don’t -- well where is it?”

She shrugs. “Lost track of it. It was just an old sword.”

“Just an--” Jaime huffed out a sigh of exasperation. That sword was priceless. He’d given it to her because… well he’d never admitted it to himself but he’d given it to her because he was worried sick she wouldn’t be able to protect herself and the girls otherwise. He’d given it to her because a warrior needed a weapon. He’d given it to her because it was the thing he had most treasured in the world, apart from her. Sending her with it was like sending his heart with her. But clearly she hadn’t gotten the symbolism. Jaime’s shoulders deflate, defeated. 

“Gods you look… what is that look? Desperate? Sad?”

Jaime smirks at her good-naturedly, despite his disappointment. “I can only say I’m sorry so many times. I’m truly glad to see you, Brienne. On my honor.”

Brienne snorted. “Your honor. Like before?”

That stung. 

“You know why I did what I did.”

She had the grace to look ashamed now. “Yes, I know.” Then, “Come back tomorrow.”

“Why? You said the sword was lost.”

“I thought you said you were glad to see me.”

“I am.”

“Then come back tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have something for you.”

Jaime shook his head with a grin - so maybe she hadn’t lost it. But she was skittish and distrustful. He understood that. He understood her better than probably anyone. Better he come back for it. He nodded, getting up off the stool. “I trust you, Brienne. I always have.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Now where have I heard that before?” He sets his hat on his head and tips it to her, and turns to go. 

“Jaime, wait.” Her voice is huskier and raw from the whisky, and Jaime felt it like an arrow to his groin. “C’mere.”

Jaime turned back to face her. “Bossy, aren’t you?” and started back toward her. 

“You liked me bossy.” He reached the bar and leaned against it. “Kiss me, Jaime.”

Jaime looks into her eyes, bright blue pools he’d often wanted to drown in. He raises his knee onto the seat of the stool and pushes up so he’s kneeling, steadying himself with his good hand, his body leaning over the bar and up, to reach her. He kisses her gently, her lips firm and soft against his, but when he pulls away she looks as if he had ravished her - the splotchy blush spreading across her freckled skin - maybe a fourth shade. He wished he could untie that scarf at her neck and see it spread it further. But she leaned back and away from him. “Now get out.”

Jaime grinned. “Tomorrow, Brienne.” She just nodded. He climbed down, replaced his hat, and walked out. 

Brienne stared after him, and then took another sip from the bottle. She loosened the bright blue scarf at her throat to reveal the fading pink of her blushes, and above that a gold chain with a bright red jewel hanging at the end of it. 

On the other side of the wall, directly behind the raven, she keeps an ancient sword that she would often practice with, out of the sight of others. The grip was a little worn, and one of the jewels had fallen from the shoulder not long ago, and she’d hung it around her neck to remind her of him. The steel never seemed to dull. One hardly used swords these days, but Brienne was oft alone and felt safer knowing how to defend herself. After all, that was half the reason Jaime had sent her away with it - she knew that. And now he’d come to finally take it back. 

She moved toward the fire in the corner, examining the glint of the light through the jewel, wiping an errant tear from her eyes. Then she removed the chain from her neck and went back to the kitchen where she wrapped it gingerly around the grip. She rarely took the thing off - only when cleaning so that it wouldn’t catch on the crates and snap off. 

When she walked back into the bar, there were four strangers standing in the doorway. The tallest of them - about her height - approached her while the other three spread out across the bar. One of his men was almost as wide as he was tall, and bald; another had a crazed look in his eye and wore a pink and green paisley beneath his wool coat; the third was short with thick black hair, and his muffler barely concealed the fact that he was missing half of his nose.    


“Good evening, mith.”

“The bar’s closed.”

“We are not thirthty.”

“What do you want?” Brienne thought quickly - there were plenty of bottles she could crack over their heads. Chairs if she needed to. And there was always the sword in the back room. Either way, they were between her and the door, so she could not run for Jaime. 

“We want the thame thing your friend Mither Lannither wanted. Thurly he told you there would be other… intherethed partieth.”

Brienne shook her head, nothing the positions of two of the tall man’s companions, along the side walls. 

“Ah, the man ith nefariouth. I hope for your thake he hath not yet acquired it.”

If she could only get to the back room she might be able to hold them off, or at least blockade herself until help could arrive. 

“I don’t have it. But I know where it is.”

Vargo Hoat’s smile faded, and Brienne felt a chill run down her spine. She considered breaking for the door, but she decided to go a route that might get the men into a central location; she was strong but against four clearly strong men, she wouldn’t stand a chance unarmed. Better to have the bar between her and them. She gestured to the stools and poured the whiskey she’d been drinking into a line of shot glasses. “How about a drink?”

One of them lit up at the suggestion, but the lisping man gave him a look that said they would stick to business. Vargo shook his head. 

Brienne went to Plan B. “Well then why don’t you come back tomorrow. I’ll be able to get it by then, and you and me and Mr. Lannister can have an auction.”

Vargo sneered and snapped his fingers. 

Brienne had forgotten about the fourth man. 

Her arms were pinned behind her back before she could flex a single muscle. The man shoved her into the bar and one of the others pulled her across it so that she was lying on her back, with her arms pinned down. She flattened her feet against the wood and attempted to buck them off, but Vargo was already holding her ankles, and he held her down firmly. 

“An aucthion ith not pothible. Let uth thow you the kind of deal we’re uthed to making.”

He nodded at the man left not holding her, who opened his horrible mouth for the first time in Brienne’s sight, and she knew she had to fight harder. The man’s teeth had been filed to points, and as far as she could tell, he had no tongue. His doughy hands were on her shoulders and she thought she might pass out from his breath as his face got closer. 

Suddenly there was a loud crack - the door had burst open and snapped at the hinges as it slammed against the wall, followed immediately by a shot. Biter went down as his companions turned toward the door. Brienne turned too, and the sight of Jaime’s silhouette in the doorway at that moment was almost enough for her to forgive him then and there. 

Things moved very quickly then. 

Vargo climbed off of the bar and ducked behind it, pushing Brienne over and onto the ground, landing on Biter’s back. She withdrew and crouched beneath the front of the bar as Jaime attempted to shoot at one of the other men. Bullets flew from both directions, but Jaime was able to dodge behind a table and out of harm’s way. Brienne knew that if she could get into the back room, get the sword, she could do some damage. But as it was, she was in the way. She quickly checked Biter’s person and found a blade tucked into his belt. She clutched it and crawled around the bar, as flat to the ground as she could, bullets flying over he heard. 

She encountered the noseless man first, and jabbed the knife into his leg. He howled and jumped from the spot nearly taking Brienne and the knife with him. With that movement, he was caught in the crossfire, and he stumbled across the room, landing just in front of the fireplace with his last breath, his hand landing in the flames and smoldering. 

His sleeve caught fire, and Brienne used the distraction to dive behind a table. The air was quickly thick with smoke, and she could hear shouting coming from behind the bar, but she could see neither Jaime nor her attackers. The fire began to roar and she saw flames licking at the furniture and the curtains, moving steadily toward the bar. 

Another shot rang out, a cry from behind the bar, and suddenly a breeze passing her as one of the men ran for the door, leaving thick drops of blood behind him. She couldn’t tell which of them it had been, but with only one more left inside, she stood a better chance of reaching the back room before the whole place went up. 

She heard Jaime scuffling on the floor nearby, and suddenly he was crouched next to her. “Brienne, we have to get out of here!”

“Not without the sword!”

“It’s here?”

She nodded and looked around the table carefully. But her head was too far cleared of the edge, and Jaime pulled her back just as another shot rang out, gripping her against his chest protectively, good arm crossing her chest, bad arm at her waist. “Forget it! I have to get you out of here!”

She shook loose from him, immediately wishing she hadn’t had to. “Cover me!” And she bolted for the kitchen door. A couple of shots rang out, but none of them near her. She dove inside and slammed the door shut behind her, pressing against it to keep the last man out, but she was not pursued. 

She climbed up onto the counter and lifted the sword off of its hangings. Outside the door, she could hear the fire spreading getting louder. When she looked out the square window, she could barely make out Jaime and another man fighting. She wrapped the belt around her waist tight, placed the chain around her neck again, the jewel secure under her tunic, and threw on her heavy coat, checking the pockets to make sure that her essentials were still there. Then she reopened the door. 

She saw the man land a punch on Jaime’s jaw, striking him down, taking a pair of stools down with him. When the attacker stood over him, she could see that it was the wild-eyed man. She must have made some sound for he spun to face her, eyes crazed. She knew the fire would reach the bar at any moment. She had no choice. She had to play her only card. In a flash, Oathkeeper was snapping through the air and through the man’s heart. Before his knees hit the ground, she had grabbed Jaime’s ankle and was pulling him out of the ruined bar. 

She dragged him through the snow, rounding the corner of the square just as the fire reached the bottles in the bar, igniting them soundly. Jaime coughed and twisted away from her and yanking her to the ground. He sat up and ran his false hand over his hair, looking around for his hat which was nowhere to be seen. Then he realized he was still holding her sleeve, and released her. “You could have been killed.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I… Brienne…”

“You burned down my bar.”

“That’s… “ he looked up at her, her eyes were shining - she was upset but not that upset. They were sparkling.  She could have been blushing a fifth shade under his stare but it was too dark to tell. He could only see her eyes, and the light of the fire glinting off of her hair. And something else - he reached up, his fingers brushing the hollow of her throat eliciting a familiar gasp as he looped the chain around his finger and slid the necklace loose. The jewel was shining, catching the moon and the firelight at once. 

“Is this…?”

She nodded and pulled away, tugging the blade out from under where she had landed. 

“You’re a marvel, you know that?”

She smirked and laid it across her palms between them. 

“And now I’m also your goddamn partner.”


	15. "That's what I'm talking about." (Rock Climbing AU)

Sansa nudged Brienne with her shoulder and bit her lip, gesturing with her brows. “ _ That’s _ what I’m talking about!”

Brienne sighed and shook her head at her friend, she pulled a plastic-wrapped cheese sandwich out of her insulated lunch bag and picked at the saran wrap while peeking in the direction Sansa had pointed. “You’ve got to stop gawping at men across the park like this.”

“They’re not across the park!” the redhead rebuked with a smile and no volume control. 

Brienne shot her a glare. “All the more reason to not gawp at them like that,” she muttered, finally freeing her sandwich and taking a bite. 

Sansa smirked and uncapped her water bottle. “It’s not like I’m interested in any of  _ them _ . They’re for  _ you _ .” She took a long slow draw from the bottle, her throat undulating. 

“I don’t know why you bother,” she said, looking pointedly away from the rocks. “I’m not looking, it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s fun, Brienne,” she whispered conspiratorially, “They’re hot, we’re hot, we’re all just… it’s fun!”

Brienne threw her head back in exasperation, extending her neck back until she felt a satisfying pop between her shoulder blades. “Sansa,” she muttered, “watching these guys pretend to rock climb in the middle of the park is  _ not _ fun. They’re barely two feet off of the ground, hanging onto that boulder. They’re wasting all that chalk, and for what? So they can hang there and pretend it’s dangerous?”

“It’s for endurance, Brienne. And c’mon and it’s not just guys.”

“I don’t see your girlfriend over there.”

Sansa blushed slightly, then slapped Brienne’s shoulder, causing the taller woman to crane her neck toward her. “So you  _ did _ look.”

Brienne groaned. “It’s not like there’s any point to this, Sansa.  _ You’re  _ hot -  _ you  _ should ask that girl out next time she’s here. The only thing I’m getting out of this entire venture is this cheese sandwich. And then I am going back to work to do,” she gestured toward the boulders, “exactly this.” She took another bite and chewed with her mouth open, watching Sansa with purpose. 

Sansa shook her head. “This isn’t the best moment for it, but you don’t give yourself enough credit. When you’re not chewing with your mouth open, you’re a fucking prize, Tarth.”

Brienne shoved more sandwich in her mouth and moved closer to Sansa’s face, causing her friend to giggle openly and put out her hands to fend her off. Brienne gave up the chase, swallowed, and leaned back on the bench with a satisfied smirk, and suddenly a pair of bright green eyes met hers dead-on. “Uh…”

“Hey,” said the eyes, and the face around them with the golden tan. 

“Hi?” Brienne replied to the soft burnished golden head of hair before her. 

“Um, cool shoes. The color’s great.”

Brienne stared at him dumbly and then looked down at her scuffed cerulean Converse. “Um… thanks.”

The golden lion’s mane nodded. “Are you waiting your turn?”

“What?”

“For the rocks - I just figured since you’re sitting right here maybe there was a line or something?”

“Oh!” came Sansa’s reply, startling Brienne who had completely forgotten that anyone outside of this golden god existed. “No no no we’re just… lunching.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, still only really looking at Brienne, “you looked like a climber, so I figured…”

Brienne’s face was completely blank. “What?”

“Well your…,” he shrugged, his eyes crinkling slightly, “you’ve got great shoulders.”

Brienne felt her face burning. “Oh… thanks.”

_ Oh no, he had a dazzling smile, too.  _

“I’m probably too tall to even bother here, but the gym I usually climb at had a gas leak or something so I figured, what the hell?”

“Do I know you?” said Sansa, peering at him. “I could swear I’ve seen you, like in a tux or something.”

He finally seemed to notice that Sansa was another human being.

“Oh - um? Well, I wore a tux to a wedding last month?”

“Oh. My god. That’s it - you were at my uncle Ed’s wedding!”

“Oh! Yeah! I was from the bride’s side - the Frey family is old friends with my dad, and he couldn’t go so…”

“Gotcha.”

He pointed at her, “Tully, Stark, or Arryn then? I don’t know Ed well but I helped with the little um,” he formed a rectangle with his fingers.

“Place cards? For the tables?” Brienne guessed. 

He turned his dazzling smile back to her, the sun catching the brightest blondes that seemed to be turning silver at the edges of his face. 

“Yeah.”

“Stark,” said Sansa, “my mom’s a Tully. Ed’s her brother.”

“Ah, okay, cool.”

“Yeah... anyway Brienne’s a climber too but her gym has a wall, isn’t that right, Brienne?” Sansa was giving Brienne a knowing look that immediately faded into innocence.

“Right... What was I thinking?” He ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m an idiot - you’re what, 6’2”? 6’3”? That boulder’s probably puny to you. I get that. Um… I’m Jaime - you’re… Brienne?” She expected a joke about her height. She expected him to say that the climbers would be better off trying to climb her. But it didn’t come. She met his eyes, earnest as hell, and he was still smiling. She put out her hand to shake his. “Yeah… Brienne. And this is--”

But Sansa was gone. 

“I think your friend um…” he gestured behind him with his other hand, still holding hers in his right, and Brienne could see that the girl Sansa had a crush on had arrived, and Sansa had actually walked over to talk to her. Sansa’s boldness inspired her own. She chuckled and firmed her handshake, then let go, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“My… um. Yeah, my gym has a wall.”

“But not a gas leak?”

She started laughing but when she realized it was coming out as a guffaw, she quieted. He was still looking at her like she was the only person in the park, but without censure. “No, no gas leak. At least not last I checked - I should actually get back there now.”

“Oh, okay.”

“It’s… it’s just a couple of blocks away, actually. I could give you the tour. Maybe you could try out the wall instead of roughing it in the park?” 

There was a spark in Jaime’s eye. “Wait, it’s… it’s actually  _ your  _ gym?”

She smiled. “Yeah… that’s…. I own a gym.”

“That’s  _ awesome _ .”

“Yeah… it is, I mean... yeah I guess.”

“No, it’s awesome. I know we just met and all but maybe I could… get a membership there since my usual place around the corner is uh indisposed.”

Brienne nodded. “Sure, yeah. I mean if you like it.”

“I bet I will. I’m - it’s weird, but I feel like it’s a sure thing.”

“Yeah, I think I get that.” 

They peered dumbly at each other, eventually interrupted by the beeping of her watch. 

“Ah, I promised Pod - the kid who works the desk - I told him I’d be back around now - would you maybe wanna… check me out now? I mean the gym. My gym. Check out my gym.” Her face was tomato red, and Jaime was obsessed with it immediately.

“Absolutely. Should we wait… for…”

“Sansa. Um.” Brienne looked over at Sansa who was doing just fine. Brienne shook her head. “No, she’ll be okay.”

“Cool. Lead the way, my lady.”

Brienne looked at him curiously and then broke out in a smile to match his. Like it was an inside joke they’d always had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I love these idiots.


	16. “Listen. No, really listen.” (ASOS Interlude)

They had run out of water two days ago. 

The skin lay empty, tied to Brienne’s belt. Traveling at night had helped, but Jaime was parched. 

He lay in the fading sunlight, protected by the shrub that she’d shoved him under at dawn. He looked over at the skin and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth to try and alleviate the stale feeling of thirst. 

The wench’s eyes were open, but she refused to look at him while she waited for the twilight, waited for the next leg of their journey to begin. 

He sighed and rolled to his back, the warmed earth soothing his aches. He shifted his arms to get more comfortable and there - just beyond the sound of his chains - there was something. He stilled and closed his eyes, trying to home in on the source of the sound. Finally, between the squawk of overhead geese and the slow thump of his own heart, he heard it again. 

“Wench.”

She didn’t turn. 

“Wench, listen--”

“Shut your mouth, Kingslayer. The sun is not yet down.”

He threw his head back in the dust in frustration. Closing his eyes again, he listened. Sure as she was stubborn, he could hear it - probably a hair east of them. 

He whispered. “Just listen, will you?”

“You have nothing to say to me that bears listening, Kingslayer.”

He turned his head to see her starting to fume. “Not me, listen—“ 

She propped herself up on an elbow, and moved to tug hard on the rope that attached them. He put up his bound hands in defense. “No, really listen. Close your eyes, and listen,” he gestured east.

She gripped the rope in her hand, but she laid back and closed her eyes, listening. After a moment, they snapped open, and she turned her wide blue gaze on him, face otherwise blank. “Water?”

He nodded. “Now that you’ve heard it too I know it’s not a hallucination. It’s real. Maybe a river or perhaps falls? Definitely something moving quickly.” 

She blinked those eyes at him, studying him as if she wondered whether she could trust her own ears under the power of his suggestion. Slowly, she loosened her grip on the rope and laid back down, eyes open, listening.

“A waterfall, I think. Just southeast.” She let go of the rope and sighed. “We’ll go when the sun is down.”

“If it’s flowing south we can—“

“—we can follow it, yes…” the tiniest tweak up at the corner of her mouth, “yes, my thoughts exactly.” 

Jaime smiled at this, and then laid again on his back, peaceful, eyes closed. They would get water. Maybe a bath. Unbidden, the image of the wench removing her armor and revealing the depth of her blushes played across his eyelids and they snapped open. No, not that. He pushed the thought away and adjusted his hips to alleviate a sudden and surprising discomfort. 


	17. "There is just something about him." (Mermaid!Brienne AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from @chromium-siren on Tumblr: 
> 
> Brienne is a mermaid who finds Jaime in a nasty shipwreck and she saves him a la Ariel, please. (Maybe she sings to him)
> 
> ///////////
> 
> Happy to oblige!

Her father had always warned her that men were not to be trusted. The sea protected them - staying beneath the waves protected them. Men could not breathe beneath the waves. Men died there. 

When she had been young, young enough that she sometimes still swam awkwardly, her limbs still finding their rhythm, she’d been caught by a forceful current and dragged up and over a sandbar, beached in the low tide. The sun had beaten down on her, and she’d gripped the dry land as tightly as possible, willing the tide to return; the sun burned her exposed skin and drew out spots that her kind had never seen before. Freckles, the boy had called them. The boy. Renly. 

He had found her. Despite the stories her father had told her of the terrible deeds of men, Renly had seemed unlike any other. He didn’t shy from her - from her tail, her sun-scorched skin, or the muscular shoulders that marked all of her people. He didn’t poke her or try to scrape off her scales or pull her further from the sea. Instead he had stood over her, blocking the sun, and shaded her while he scooped water over her tail, talking to her to keep her calm, and kept her from drying out until there was enough water over the sandbar for him to shift her toward the coastal shelf. 

In spite of her father’s wishes, she would return to that spot often - never close enough to risk the current again, but near enough that she could see him and sometimes he would see her. Sometimes she would hum until the ripples vibrating off of her body reached the shore, carrying the low tones to him, and he would pick up his head and smile in her direction. 

They grew up in parallel - Renly grew taller, darker, more handsome; if she had legs she would be even taller than he, neither the freckles nor the pink burns on her cheeks from that day ever faded completely, and she was not beautiful. 

Some years later, the boy - now a man - stopped visiting the beach. When she gave up trying to see him again, her tears mixed with the sea as she sank back into the depths. It would be many moons before she would break the surface again.

She had been sleeping peacefully, her long azure tail curled on the kelp bed while her pale yellow hair floated around her face, almost as if in a gentle breeze. Above the surface, her hair felt coarse, but here it was soft as the green mass beneath her. She was startled awake by a flash of yellow and orange light far above her, followed not long after by a wave of pressure that carried with it a jarring booming sound. 

Looking up, she could barely make out the narrow shape of a ship surrounded by what appeared to be concentrated daylight. But it couldn’t be the sun. Curious, she stretched her limbs and then pushed herself upwards, faster and faster until she could make out smaller silhouettes near the ship, all highlighted by the yellow and orange glow. 

She knew that she should stay below. She knew that her father would wish her to remain safe, and away from the men who had created this disturbance. Her father would have viewed the light as a warning to stay away; but she was lured to it, almost as if it were a beacon calling her home. 

She slowed and swam past the edges of the light before breaking the surface. When her ears found the air, she was met with a roar peppered with screams. The ship was aflame - pieces of it were cast about in the water, mostly floating, some with men dying or already dead upon them. The belly of the ship must have burst in some way, for an enormous blackened hole could be seen in the side, thick black smoke pouring from its bowels. With a groan, the ship began to tilt as the belly took on water. The fire continued to blaze within and above and suddenly she could see a shadow moving against the flames. 

A man appeared to be trapped - one of his arms was pinned beneath a beam that had fallen in the blast, and he was struggling to get free. She could see no one else living on board, only the man. And the ship tilted further. Then something snapped. The beam was suddenly, violently, lifted away from the man when the mast broke in two thanks to the buckling ship. The man shouted in pain and tried to step away, to safety, but the vessel had tilted so deeply that he could not gain his footing. She watched as he tumbled from the deck and into the dark water. 

She dove beneath the waves and swam as quickly as she could, dodging flotsam and praying to the drowned god that the ship did not sink further, or that its remaining beams did not crash down upon her while she sped to reach him. She spotted him slipping beneath the water, his golden hair catching the remains of the firelight above. An inch-long gash in his forehead was spilling blood into the sea, and his injured arm was bloody as well. 

She knew two things in this moment. One was that with the other men already dead in the water, and now this man’s blood flowing freely, the sharks would be surrounding them soon if they had not already begun to circle in the dark. And the second was that men could not breathe beneath the waves. Her father would have let this man sink to his death. Her father would let the sharks tear his limbs from him and then let the crabs feast on his shredded flesh. But there was something about this man. And her father was not here. And she was more honorable than that. 

She looped her arm under the man’s shoulder and hoisted him upward until they reached the burning air. And then she dragged him laterally until they had nearly cleared the wreckage. There was a good size piece of board floating nearby, and she pushed him onto it. They were many miles from the shore, and with the sharks likely already trailing through the water below, she had to act quickly to ensure that they would reach it. 

She knew why her father had cautioned her away from men. She knew that scales were valuable to men and that they would cut them from her if given the chance. But she also knew from youth that if she plucked them herself she would neither bleed nor feel the pain at their removal. Her scales could grow back. But the man was losing blood quickly. She made her choice. 

She chose a cluster near her hip and one by one wiggled them free, feeling the pull and a pinch, but then nothing. Three made up the size of her palm, and she would need at least thrice that to help the man. When she had enough, she applied them, sticky, to the man’s forehead, and then along the worst parts of his arm. The bleeding ceased, and she tested a flick of her tail to ensure that there was no pain in her side. There was not, and so she flipped it powerfully and propelled the man and the board away from the wreckage. 

When they reached the shore line some time later, she slipped him from the board and onto the sand bar, careful to keep her tail close to the shelf, wary of the current and tide. The sky was purpling, pinks forming in the furthest reaches toward the east. She was finally able to really look at his face and examine his features while he lay with his back in the sand, breathing shallowly.

He was fair of face - fairer even, she thought, than Renly was when last she saw the dark, blue-eyed youth. This man’s hair was yellow like hers, but unlike hers, it was soft above the water and curled gently around his face as it dried in the air. His shoulders were as broad as hers, and his legs seemed powerful, like her tail. The pinks turned to orange behind her as she peeled the healing scales from his forehead revealing a pale pink line which in time would fade. His face was golden almost as his hair. And he was warm. She felt it in his breath when it blew against her wrists as she hovered over his forehead. And she felt it in her hands when she lifted his arm and removed the remaining scales, revealing smooth pink skin that contrasted slightly with his natural tan. In time, this too would fade. 

As the sun got closer to the horizon, she knew that she should not stay. There was no telling what kind of man he was, and whether he would wake and drag her out of the water - if he had the strength. She could not know, and yet she lingered, hoping he would open his eyes so that she might at least glance them and remember their color after she swam back into the deep. 

She knew that she should go, but instead she drew herself up beside him and perched on the sandbar, her tail still fluttering below. Her hand drifted over him as she started to hum to herself - a lullaby from her mother. She ran her fingers over the calluses of his hands, over the strange skin at his elbow; she stroked the wiry golden hair on his chest that bounced back against her hand as she moved; she gently touched his chapped lips, feeling his breath buffer against her finger tips, and she grinned. Finally she held her hand to his neck, wrapping tendrils of his hair around her fingers while his pulse beat against her palm. 

As the sun began to rise over the horizon, he took a deeper breath, and suddenly his eyes were open and staring into hers, and she stopped humming. Green. A forever kind of green. A green that one couldn’t quite find beneath the waves unless one knew where to look - a green from deep in the coral forests where the most dangerous fish lived. Green of the deep ocean, flecked with sunlight. Beautiful. 

“Don’t stop,” he croaked. “It’s beautiful.”

She felt her freckles pop with her blush, and he smiled gently up at her. 

“I know what you are.”

She stiffened, her hand slipping to his shoulder, her body ready to jump. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he assured her, “You saved me.” He touched his previously-injured hand to his temple as if feeling for a bruise, and then he too stiffened and raised his hand away from his face, realizing then that his injury was of the past. “You saved me,” he said again. 

The sun was rising and she could feel her skin begin to pink from its rays. Her hand slipped away from him, and she slid into the water, to her neck. 

“Wait!”

She turned back to face him as he sat up gingerly, his legs dangling in the water, and shaded his eyes against the sun with his hand. “You saved me. I owe you. Whatever you want of me, it’s yours.”

She wanted to never look away from his eyes. She wanted to brush his scarred temple with her lips. She wanted to sink into the waves with him and feel his hand in her hair there, where it would be soft. She wanted to wrap her tail around his legs and never let go. Instead she dipped into the water to smooth her hair back and then rose again in front of him, between his knees. 

She didn’t have much practice with speaking in the air, so she kept her tone low, as if still humming. “Your name,” she rasped. 

He looked at her, his eyes dashing madly about her features as if trying to unlock a puzzle there. “You want my name, as payment for saving me?”

She blinked, and nodded once. 

“Jaime,” he said, “my name is Jaime.”

She nodded again and went to push away, but his hand caught her shoulder, nearly toppling himself into the water. She caught him and righted him as he chuckled, the vibrations sounding pleasantly against her palm. 

“I have no right to it,” he said, “I’ve done nothing to deserve it. But if we should never meet again, I wish to have a name to go with the most astonishing eyes in the sea.” 

She looked at him warily, but he smiled genuinely. “Please. I would like to know to whom I owe my life, and to whom my name now belongs,” he added wryly.

She swallowed, and spoke again in the same tone, “Brienne.”

When he smiled again, his teeth shone in the bright sunlight. “Brienne. Thank you.” He let go of her shoulder and cupped her face, his fingers toying with the coarse hair behind her ears as if it were as pleasant as his own. She nodded again, and pushed away, this time far enough that he could not have reached for her if he’d tried. But he didn’t, he only sat there at the edge of the shore with a strange smile on his face, and eyes only for hers. 

With one last glance as those green eyes, she dove beneath the waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read Pt 2 [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50347427)


	18. "Secrets? I love secrets." (Season 8 Interlude)

The dungeons at Winterfell were not much warmer than the road he’d taken to get there. Tyrion had come to sit with him on the other side of the cell bars while they awaited summons from the dragon queen. The brothers didn’t have much to say to one another, but the company was at least slightly warmer than the reception he’d received at his arrival. 

Tyrion had just finished listing off another round of his personal regrets when Varys floated in from the shadows. 

“Ser Jaime.”

“Lord Varys.”

“I wonder if I might have a word. Before Queen Daenerys sees you.”

“Secrets?” said Tyrion from his stool, “I love secrets. Let’s hear them, Varys. If you have a way to get my brother out of this, let us discuss.”

“Oh, nothing like that I’m afraid,” the spider replied, tucking his hands deeper into the pockets of his cloak, “I merely wish to ask Ser Jaime a question about his arrival.”

“Are you surprised that I left the protection of my sister’s skirts, or surprised I arrived without the Lannister army? I’ve already explained both to Tyrion - she threatened to have me killed, and she wouldn’t release the army, there.”

“Neither of those surprised me, my lord, truly. No, I was only wondering at how long it took you to come here.”

Tyrion eyed the bald man warily, “He left not three days after the summit, Varys, what did you expect?”

Varys did not look away from Jaime. “I think I was surprised at his being at the summit at all.”

“You’re speaking in circles,” Tyrion interjected again. “Save your puzzles. What is the point of this inquiry?”

“My apologies, my lords, I’m not speaking so frankly as I might.”

“Speak, Lord Varys,” said Jaime, voice thick with irony, “I may not have the pleasure of hearing your voice again after today.”

Varys paused, eyeing the former Lord Commander, then meting out his words: “Ser Jaime, I would have thought that you would have made the choice to come north much sooner.”

“And why is that?” Jaime said lazily, “We can’t all be you. Some of us have parts we might not wish frozen off...You have a question, Varys. Spit it out.”

“I only wonder why it took you so long to follow the Beauty of Tarth and--”

“The Beaut--?” started Tyrion, before Jaime reached through the bars, gripped Varys by the collar, and pulled him against the freezing iron. “Her name is Brienne.”

“Jaime…” said Tyrion, standing now, and putting out his hands as if to calm a wild beast. 

Jaime let go and Varys smoothed the front of his frock, but he did not step away from the cell.

“I trusted my little birds, Ser Jaime. As I understand it, you both pledged to see the Stark girls north. They told me you sent Lady Brienne away from the capital fitted with unusual armor and a familiar squire, and with a sword unlike any other. And now some years later, I have seen that sword, Ser Jaime, she wields it still. She wears the armor, too. And Podrick Payne still stands at her side. All of these things turned out to be true except your part of the oath. Why are you only seeing to the task now.”

“What is the point of this?” Jaime asked bitterly, “What does it matter?”

“Ser Jaime… you left your sister behind. That calls into question the direction of your true loyalties. I’m simply trying to assess whether those loyalties will be a detriment to your… situation.”

“You’re asking if I would return to Cersei--”

“I am asking whether you would swear fealty to Queen Daenerys, or if your loyalty to Sansa Stark would get in the way of that.”

“And who are you loyal to?” Jaime growled.

“I have always been loyal to the seven kingdoms, my lord,” Varys punctuated with a nod.

Jaime nodded in return. “Then you understand, I swear fealty to no crown - not Cersei, not Daenerys, not Sansa Stark or Jon Snow should they style themselves regent in the north. I am not here to fight for crowns or thrones. I am here to fight for the living.” 

“Then you have no loyalty to Sansa or her sister?”

“Does Arya live, then?”

“Yes, she was here when we arrived four days ago.”

Jaime nodded, “Lady Brienne and I both promised Catelyn Stark that her daughters would be returned to the north. We couldn’t do that sitting in King’s Landing, and we couldn’t both go with Cersei raging. The only way was for Brienne to go and for me to stay and try to curb our sister.”

“Did that work?” asked Tyrion snidely.

“Not as well as I’d hoped. But she brought Sansa back. The armor and the sword you speak of were a contribution to the promise given - an oath made to Lady Catelyn, not to her daughters. I suppose now that they’ve both made it back, the oath is fulfilled. Lady Stark’s ghost gets her daughters, and now she’ll see the Kingslayer’s blood spilt on her floors. What a tidy end to the tale.”

“And if you live to fight this battle, Ser Jaime, and should you live beyond it, what then? To whom would you swear fealty then?”

“No more oaths, Varys. The last time I swore an oath, I wound up beholden to a dead woman. I think I’d like to see what the world looks like after, before I go making promises such as that. I might not wish to live in that world, and then where would your promises be?”

“You have no loyalty then.”

Jaime took a deep breath and gripped the freezing bars, pushing his face as close to Varys’ as he could. “There are two people in this world for whom I have any sense of love or affection. One of them is in this room, and it’s not you. Both of them will push to fight in this battle, and both will likely die in it. One, because they’re too smart for their own good and will insist on being the smartest damn person on the parapet,” here, Tyrion scoffed and leaned back against the wall, “and the other because they’re too stupid and brave to put themselves before anyone else. Should I live beyond this day, the only thing I will swear is to fight for them both to live because without them I have no reason to. My loyalty is with them and them alone.”

Tyrion looked like he was about to say something, but he was halted by Varys’ tangible concentration. After a moment, the spider leaned toward the bars again.

“Love makes people do odd things, Ser Jaime. The things that you’ve done for these… two people. Would you do them again? All of them?”

Automatically, “Yes.”

“You’d let your father die again?”

A pause, then: “Yes.”

“You’d jump into the bear pit again, for her?”

“I might try to bring a weapon with me the second time, but yes.”

“And your hand?”

Without hesitation, “Without hesitation.”

Varys nodded. “It’s good to have people in your life, Ser Jaime, for whom you would do anything. For your sake, I hope they feel the same.”

Varys left, floating back into the darkness from whence he came. 

Jaime sighed heavily, then turned toward his brother. 

Tyrion was staring at him, eyes wide. 

“The  _ what _ pit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah idk what that was, I drank too much wine and this happened.


	19. "Yes, I admit it, you were right." (Parents AU)

Brienne lay back on the bed, propped up on her elbows, trying to catch her breath. She felt Jaime chuckling against her panting side. 

“By the Seven...“

“Yeah?”

She chuckled.

“So... you liked that?”

She looked down at him in disbelief. “I would have thought my reaction would have given it away.” 

“As much as I appreciated the shrieking, wench—“

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. “Mama? Daddy? Are you okay?”

Brienne felt her body shake as Jaime tried to muffle his laughter against her belly. “Yes Pod, sweetie. We’re okay, go back to bed.”

“I heard yelling.”

Jaime was laughing so hard that he snorted, lifted the hem of his wife’s tank top, and buried his head under it to muffle the sounds. 

“It’s okay, baby. Daddy and I are just watching a funny show.”

“Can I watch?”

Now Brienne snorted, and she felt Jaime mouthing her stomach, eliciting an ill-timed giggle. “No -  _ Jaime _ \- No, darling. It’s past your bedtime. You can watch the telly tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Okay! Night, mama!”

They heard the five-year-old’s shuffling steps move down the hall followed by the click of his door. 

Brienne fell back against the mattress with a giggle and Jaime snuffled against her skin. He retreated from the shirt and inched up kiss her collarbone. 

“That was close,” she said, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should be doing this in the living room instead.”

Jaime inched higher, placing a kiss just below her ear. ”Am I to have no satisfaction? I never get to hear it, and you promised.” He kissed her ear. “Do you yield?”

She sighed. “I was very skeptical… but okay. Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

He grinned gleefully and covered her lips with his. Then he pulled back, yawning into her pillow case, reached his arm down, pawing at the duvet. “Again?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure? You seem a little tired, there.”

“I can manage,” he said, a sly smile creeping across his lips as his hand finally landed on what he sought. 

She smiled in return and gently pushed him away, re-stacking the pillows that had shifted during their last go. Then she pushed up on her arms and wiggled her hips until she was more or less seated with the pillows at her back.

Jaime reset himself, with his head on her thigh. “You’ll have to try to be quieter this time.”

“I’ll bite my pillow then.”

“Wench.”

She snorted and absently stroked his waist.

"I think you'll like part 2 even better," Jaime said, stretching his arm up, and wiggling his eyebrows, "you'll appreciate the vain dragon."

"Oh," she said archly, "I'm looking forward to it."

Jaime grinned wider angled the remote in his hand toward the receiver and clicked PLAY on episode 2 of  _ My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have been drinking again.


	20. "You could talk about it, you know?" (Sense and Sensibility Adaptation - Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Part 1 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50007698).

The Miss Starks were made to feel very welcome on their arrival in the Riverlands. The neighborhood of Riverrun consisted of the Park, occupied by Lord Edmure and his family, a small village on the outskirts of which were one or two other fine manors, and Riverrun Cottage which lay within sight of the Park, along the banks of the Green Fork. The cottage was comfortable, if a bit drafty, and the manservant and housekeeper who’d been sent ahead had dusted and laid things out in such a way that the family would feel at home without it quite being Winterfell. Lord Edmure Tully had a serene countenance, though he tended toward the maudlin after dinner, and his wife was quiet and rarely seen for the Tullys had very small children and preferred to take charge of their rearing rather than handing them off to nursemaids and wetnurses.

It was Lord Edmure’s uncle Ser Brynden, who insisted that everyone call him Blackfish, that was the most curious to the ladies. He was as tall as Brienne, but as broad as two of the Miss Starks standing shoulder to shoulder. His beard had once been black but was now streaked heavy with silver and white. An older gentleman who had fought plenty of battles in his day, he tended toward the eccentric but with a merry turn, and he was full of jokes for any occasion; his eccentricity, however, allowed for even his honored guests being the subject of those jokes.

Second to the Blackfish in curiosity was Lord Edmure’s oldest friend, Colonel Tyrion Casterly, who was staying with the family for the summer. If the Miss Starks were nothing like the Tullys, then Colonel Casterly (or Tyrion as he preferred to be called) was at the opposite end of that spectrum line. A small man - not attractive, but wise. He was witty where the Blackfish was vulgar, and he was quiet where the Blackfish was taken to a profusion of expression. It was no wonder that Lord Edmure felt uncertain of his own character after imbibing - he was so split in two ways. Tyrion’s address recommended him as it was particularly gentleman-like, and his and Lord Edmure’s stories of the most recent war kept Arya, if no one else, quite occupied. Tyrion did not always respond with rapture in the way the rest of the party might when discussing art or music, and therefore he did not appeal to Sansa as much as to the others, but he was still well-liked by all.

***

The Starks had been in the neighborhood but a fortnight when Sansa’s injury occurred. Arya’s version of the story tended toward exaggeration, but the truth of it was that Sansa had slipped and tumbled - her ankle was sprained and she sent Arya to go into the village for help. But when Arya started back up the hill, she was confronted by two vicious-looking hounds, and she had bounded back to Sansa’s side as if to shield her. Just then, the dogs’ owner had appeared and called them off. Ramsay Snow had swept Sansa up, placed her on his horse, and escorted her home. 

Ramsay and Sansa were inseparable after that, much to the Colonel’s silent chagrin. Mrs. Stark, sensing another attachment amongst her daughters, made her enquiries about Mr. Snow’s character with Lord Edmure and was told that he was a pleasant enough in company and was keen on raising dogs, but that he was not a resident of the Riverlands - his own estate, which was small, was in the Vale. He was only in this part of the country a few months out of the year as he hoped to inherit from his aunt, Lady Bolton of Drefort Hall. His standing did not keep Lord Edmure from inviting Ramsay on their picnics and excursions, and therefore Catelyn was not put off, and she saw no reason to discourage her daughter’s acquaintance with the young man. 

This was the season of happiness to Sansa. She and Ramsay seemed devoted to one another. Sansa and her mother basked in his charms, and Arya found a new playmate in his lively spirit, though she was wary of his dogs. Once he learned of Brienne’s favorite activities, he offered to spar with her, but Brienne had demurred more than once, claiming a standing appointment with the Blackfish. 

Brienne’s happiness during this time was not so great. She got on well enough with, if tolerated, the Tullys, and she enjoyed her time sparring with the skilled Blackfish, even if his egotism bordered on grating and his stories bordered on tedious. 

In Tyrion alone, of all her new acquaintances, did Brienne find a person who could in any degree claim the respect of wisdom, excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. Though they never spoke of it as a unit, their singular feelings of outsidership made them feel most comfortable together. Brienne’s compassion for him increased when she saw that he had eyes only for Sansa, for she had reason to suspect him to already be familiar with the misery of disappointed love, and in her sister he could hope for nothing else. 

***

As the weeks wore on, a reprisal of Tyrion’s disappointment seemed imminent. Sansa and Ramsay were always together, but soon small tokens and gifts were being exchanged. One day on the way to the sept, Arya informed Brienne that Ramsay now wore a locket containing Sansa’s hair on his person - that she had seen him cut the hair from her in their very parlor. 

Brienne had hesitated to confront her sister about the propriety of this until the day that the Colonel was suddenly called away from the Riverlands. His reason for going was unclear, but as it was brought on by the arrival of an express of King’s Landing, and as Ser Brynden had observed that the Colonel would likely be gone for some time, all in the party should have been compassionate; but on that day, Ramsay had expressed disdain at the now-absent Colonel for depriving them all of their picnic plans. Brienne stayed silent while in company, and then pulled Sansa aside after they had been deposited back at the cottage. 

If the lock of hair had been a surprise, what came next was a shock. Sansa disclosed to her sister than Ramsay had gifted her a horse. “Sansa!” cried Brienne, “We could not afford to keep the horses we had at Winterfell, what will we do with one here? We have no stable, barely a yard for grazing, barely enough money to feed ourselves!”

Sansa had clucked at her. “He’ll hold onto her until such a time as I no longer live here, Brienne. But Lady is mine. She led the curricle today when Ramsay and I rode to see Drefort Hall!” 

Ser Brynden had hinted at Sansa and Ramsay haven ridden somewhere, but Brienne had believed it to just be to the village, or through the park. The manor where Ramsay's aunt resided was nearly five miles away. “Drefort Hall! Sansa, I thought Ser Brynden was being impudent before, do you mean to say that you did indeed go there with Mr. Snow?"

“Why should you imagine, Brienne, that we did not go there? Ramsay is to inherit the estate from his aunt Walda. He had every right - and was the only one with the right - to show it to me.”

Brienne willed herself to calm, wishing she were in breeches with a tourney sword in her hand so that she might beat something and release the anger and disappointment she was now feeling toward her younger sister. If Catelyn were not so taken with such passions as her daughter, she might be better at curbing her. Alas, that had never been their mother's strength. “You should not have gone alone, Sansa. It was not proper to go with no one but Ramsay. Was the Lady even at home?”

Sansa rolled her eyes at her sister and skipped up to the door of the cottage, pausing on the stones to examine her boots, “I did not meet Lady Bolton, no. But it was a pleasant time, Brienne!”

“Pleasantness does not evince propriety, Sansa!”

“And what of your own propriety?” Sansa shot back, turning away from the cottage and stepping toward Brienne. “You and Jaime spent plenty of _ pleasant _time alone, was that, too, improper?”

Brienne began to blush. It was true that she had likely spent as much time - if not more time - with Jaime as Sansa had now spent with Ramsay Snow, but neither of them would have opened themselves up to such embarrassment and censure as Sansa was now inviting. “Sansa, we never left the grounds. Mr. Lannister was everything proper - we walked the gardens, we sparred in the yard with a stableboy present, we read together in the library - we read to Arya stories of the North. Sansa, we never strayed from the sight of the house.”

“And what of that last night?” Sansa stared up at Brienne.

Brienne felt the breeze become a chill and she wrapped her arms about her, holding in warmth, but also protecting herself against her sister's suggestion. That last night, Jaime had come and found her. True, there had been no stableboy present with them, and they had not exactly been within sight of the house, but there had been nothing untoward about it. Brienne opened her mouth to respond, but Sansa was ready with her accusations.

“We did not sit together that last night. Cersei had claimed a headache at dinner, and the group dispersed - Arya barricaded herself in the library; my mother was crying herself to sleep in her room because Robert would not give up the study long enough for her to reminisce and grieve there; and I wandered the halls, saying goodbye to every chair rail, every tile, and then out of doors, to every tree. But I found neither you nor Jaime. And then late - very late - I saw the two of you from my bedchamber window - you were walking up the drive together, alone; I imagine that you, Brienne, could only have been doing things that were _excessively proper _.”

Brienne took a deep breath. “I was in the stables with Nymeria saying my own goodbyes. Mr. Lannister…” Brienne did not want to lie to her sister, but if she had told her then that Jaime had come because he had ‘missed their reading’ or something of that nature, Sansa would spot it for the untruth it was; still, she truth was perhaps too close to Sansa’s accusation. “Mr. Lannister brought a book and we read where we would disturb no one else. The time got away from us, to be sure, but there was nothing improper in it, Sansa. We may as well have been in the drawing room. He did not make love to me. He did not even suggest any impropriety. We just sat and read, and I brushed Nymeria knowing that her new owners would not be so loving.”

Sansa shook her head. “You could talk about it, you know. You could tell me about it - you could tell me anything!” cried Sansa. 

“There is nothing to tell! Not every relationship is the grand romance that you want it to be, Sansa. And Ja-- Mr. Lannister is not Mr. Snow.”

“Because Ramsay is not rich?”

“No! Sansa, you know that I do not believe that a person’s worth is in their purse. How could I? No, I only mean that Mr. Lannister never once acted improperly, unlike Mr. Snow when he chose to escort you to his aunt’s home, alone.”

“No,” said Sansa, “Jaime would never do anything so passionately; the more I think on him I believe he may be as stodgy as Colonel Casterly is ill and infirm.”

“Infirm!” cried Brienne, “Ill! The Colonel is not your mother’s age! How can you call him infirm!”

Sansa shrugged. “Brienne, on that subject of illness, I have another alarm where Jaime is regarded--" Brienne felt her heart lunge. She had been home during the day while her sister had not - surely there had been no letter, no cause for alarm--

"--I think he must not be well, for we have been here two months and yet he does not come. What can detain him at Winterfell?”

Brienne stilled. “Had you any idea of his coming so soon? I had none. I have not expected him.”

“Have you not? Was not his adieu to you somewhat less sedate than it was to myself and my mother? I thought I saw him press your hand, Brienne.”

“You are mistaken Sansa,” replied Brienne with a chill of both disappointment and anxiety running down her spine, “I have told you already - Mr. Lannister and I are friends. I have no other assurances of his regard nor,” she lied, “do I hope for them.”

Brienne spun and walked into the house and, taking a candle from the mantle, climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. She closed the door, set the candle down on the small bedside table, and curled up on the bed, on top of her blanket. Numbly she opened the drawer and removed the book that she had devotedly kept by her side these two months. She held it tightly to her chest as she fell asleep, as if doing so would alleviate the pain she felt there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended for this to continue past the first part, but the responses to that first part were really great, and the day 20 prompt fit, so I wrote it. This approximates Chapters 6-13 of Jane Austen's novel.
> 
> Here's [Part 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50409611)


	21. "Change is annoyingly difficult." (Physical Therapy AU)

Jaime hated physical therapy, though not as much as he hated the absence of his right hand. In the grand scheme of things, it was a hatred of physical therapy, an abhorrence for the lack of a hand and, most of all, Brienne. His ex was in there somewhere, too. 

His physiotherapist was a brute. Tall - taller than him, broad of shoulder - broader than his, scarred - okay, on that account he could concede that his were worse. She was freckled all over - down to gods knew where, and she hated him. So naturally, he hated her back. Even though she had absolutely astonishing blue eyes that liked to trip him up. And even though, at the end of the day, what she was doing was helping him. And okay maybe she didn’t hate  _ him _ , maybe she was just like that with everyone. 

The accident that had taken his hand had been just that - he hadn’t asked for it to happen. He’d just broken up with his ex - again - and he’d been angry and cocky in his driving. It never paid to do that. The next thing he knew, the sports car was wrapped around a tree and his hand was trapped between the dash and the door frame. 

From what he could tell in passing, the bulk of Brienne’s patients were alcoholics. They’d all done something idiotic like drive off a bridge, or try to do a handstand on a train platform, or operate a saw while not knowing how to operate a saw. She seemed to show them no sympathy, and he apparently was grouped in with the rest. It’s not that she wasn’t a good physiotherapist, it’s that maybe she probably would have been better suited to working with prison inmates. 

On this fine Tuesday morning, she was being really hard on him, by Jaime’s standards. Not only did he have to suffer through his usual semi-weekly routine of standard recovery exercises, but every session she now had him trying to lift a little more weight using the remaining forearm - today he was up to 10 pounds. Afterwards, she would always beat his arm until it was bruised, like normal. Sure, the medical bills called it therapeutic massage, an alternating of cold packs and heat packs with pressure, but really it was just torture. If he had a physiotherapist with smaller hands, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Of course then maybe it also wouldn’t feel as loose and flexible come next session. 

He was in the middle of lifting the ten pound weight with his forearm when he stopped and stared at Brienne across the small gym space. She stared back, an eyebrow up. “What’s up, Lannister?”

“Wench, I’ve just realized that my arm doesn’t hurt.”

“I told you not to call me that.” 

Okay, so some of the antagonism had been his fault. “Sorry - Brienne. My arm doesn’t hurt.”

“Like the pressure of the band is cutting off your circulation, or like it doesn’t hurt to be moving it like that?”

“The latter. Definitely the latter.”

The therapist broke into a crooked-toothed smile that brightened her eyes, and for a second Jaime thought she actually looked like a pleasant person to know. 

“That’s good, Lannister. It means your muscles are building up. Have you been working with the band between appointments?”

“Yes,” he said, curling his arm toward his chest again. 

“What about your other arm?”

He nearly dropped the weight, but he stopped himself and slowly lowered it to the ground. “Uh…?”

Brienne sighed and walked over, stepping around mats and blocks. “Lannister, you’ve gotta work both arms.”

“My left arm is fine!” he flexed it and spun his wrist to show her. 

“Lannister, the loss of a dominant hand means that the other is going to take some strain. It’s best if you build it up so that not only can you do everything you need to with it, but this way when the muscles build up on the injured arm, you don’t wind up looking like Popeye after only half a can of spinach.”

Jaime let out an exasperated sigh. “Change is annoyingly difficult. It’s bad enough I have to come here and be tortured by you.”

Brienne cocked her head and raised her brow.

“I never went to the gym before all this.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not like this! I mean I have a gym membership but mostly I used it for cardio when it rains, or for the shower when my building doesn’t have hot water.”

Brienne’s brows drew together, but the glance was gone in an instant. “Excuse me for observing, but you seemed in excellent shape other than - this. What were you doing before the incident?”

“Incident,” Jaime said with a sneer. “You say it like all I did was stub my toe on the sofa leg. I’m down a hand, wench. At least call it a maiming.”

She took a breath and counted to ten. “What were you doing before you lost it?”

“It’s not mislaid!”

“Mr. Lannister.”

“Jaime.”

Fine, Jaime, what were you doing to keep up your physical health when you had all of your appendages? 

“He scowled and muttered an answer under his breath before doing another rep.”

“What was that?”

He set the weight down with a heavy sigh. “I’m a choreographer.”

Brienne’s eyebrows perked up, and she bent her head toward him with interest. “Like dancing?”

“Almost. I thought about it for a while,” he smiled to himself. “But actually, like combat. Some film stuff but mostly stage.”

“Professionally?”

_ She sounds... impressed?  _ “Yeah. You know that national tour of Targaryen Times they started running once the local franchises proved unprofitable?”

She nodded, and he noticed her neck was suddenly the faintest pink; he looked away.

“I choreographed all the sword play for that, and the jousting.” Jaime could have stopped there, but it had been so long since he’d had a chance to talk to someone about something he loved so much. “On top of that,” he continued, “my niece and nephews have been in high school for the last ten years or so, overlapping you know, and you wouldn’t believe how much Shakespeare one school can do in a decade - it’s  _ a lot _ . So I kept busy… I guess I stayed in shape by handling heavy weaponry.”

“And dancing,” she japed.

He chuckled, “Yeah.” 

“Well you can still do that, can’t you?”

“Why, did you want to dance my lady?”

She snorted. 

_ Oh, that’s kind of endearing _ , he thought.

“I meant the fight choreo.”

“Sure I can still technically do it but I’ve always marked out a fight by doing it myself. And then I make a video of me playing it out so that the actors can learn it. My dominant hand is gone. I can barely handle a dagger in my left hand—”

“—all the more reason to work up that arm.”

“But even then my right —”

“Jaime you’re lifting 10 pounds without pain on your right arm now. Couldn’t you use a shield on that arm?” 

He toyed with the thought. “I see what you’re saying. Maybe in another ten pounds I could think about that. But not all choreo requires a shield. And some weapons require two hands. At this point I’ll need to hire someone for me to direct in order to record the fights.”

She was thinking.  _ Loudly.  _

“What?”

“Have you thought about prosthetics? You might be able to get one made that would be specifically for managing a two-handed grip like for a broadsword, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could get one made that had a lock grip with enough of a rating to hold a foil so that it would be like using your right hand again - you wouldn’t have the same range of motion, so it might not be ideal but I think it’s worth a shot, Jaime. I’ve got a colleague who specializes in 3D printing and prosthetic parts with weight ratings - maybe you can talk to him about something that does have some range of motion? I mean if you’re looking at handling a mace or a morning star I would probably insist on you just training your left hand for those - too tricky - but for other things there might be another way.”

Jaime’s mouth was hanging open, he could tell. But he wasn’t sure he had the strength to close it. He dipped his head in order to force his jaw closed. 

“Did you—”

Brienne was now blushing - _quite prettily_, if he was honest, he liked the way it bloomed all over like a vivid living floral wallpaper - all over. 

_ Huh.  _

“Are you trained?”

She nodded. “I actually worked for the local Targaryen Times before -”

“You were a--”

“--A knight, yeah.” 

Suddenly some pieces fell into place. Her height. Her breadth.  _ Her strength.  _

“So you can—”

“Yeah - spar, joust - I’ve handled a lot of weapons.” She grinned that goofy crooked tooth grin that made those astonishing eyes even bluer somehow and Jaime’s gut suddenly felt like it was on fire. “I usually won.”

“Of course you did,” he sighed before swallowing hard. “Um…” he gestured at the weight on the ground, “Should I...?” he gestured dumbly in a flexing motion, like he was suddenly struck stupid under her gaze. 

She nodded, “10 more reps and then we’ll get everything nice and loose again.” 

“Uhhuh.”

He did the reps and then climbed up on the table for her to start the massage that always felt like ice and fire but which today just felt profoundly like a massage - a good one. He made sure to ask her for her prosthetic guy’s info. And then he made sure to get her number - “for the videos,” he said. “I could use someone I don’t need to train on top of direct, you know?” 

She’d nodded and handed him back his phone. “And maybe I can help train you. Get your sword back in your hand.”

“What?”

“Your left hand - maybe I can help you? You’re a choreographer so I think your instincts are probably good, you just need to improve your flexibility.”  
  
The belly fire was back.  _ Huh.  _


	22. "We could have a chance." (Mermaid!Brienne AU Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read Part 1 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50144558).

Brienne did not go back to the shore after that. Jaime had not been of the beach as Renly had, he’d been traveling across the sea. She knew that he would not visit the shore, that he might never touch the sea again, even. And so she saved her tears and her voice and went on, waking each morning with only the memory of his eyes. 

One year to the day following the rescue, there was an unnatural storm over their ocean. It altered the direction of the currents, and made the waves more powerful, reaching lower than ever before. 

Brienne’s father Selwyn led his people, swimming for safety, but the currents trapped them and dragged them across a dead coral forest. Their tails and hair snagged on the calcified fauna, scraping them as they fought the tide that made the water churn around them, until all were huddled at the entrance to a rocky cave. Unable to escape through the maelstrom, Selwyn led them deeper into the cavern to seek another way out, following a light from within that made the stone almost glow.

The rocks of the cavern were overly warm to the touch and the water there felt thick, almost spoiled, unsafe. The glow, they found, was from magma pouring directly out of the sea floor and seeping into a crevasse at the center of the cavern, lending everything a bright red tinge. 

Across the crevasse was a being that appeared to have two heads - one with fiery red hair that, to Brienne, seemed to glow independent of the molten rock, and the other the head of a creature that matched the beast’s body. As the being turned toward the assembled group, Brienne sensed others surrounding them - selkies. The fire-haired one had the seal hood pulled back, giving her the appearance of a second helm; but the others kept theirs on. They pinned their quarry to the walls with their claws as their leader began to speak.

She was a witch, one who consorted with the god of death to sustain the selkie existence and who, by the grace of that god, defied death itself. But she did so at great expense to the living, and had been doing so for a very long time. 

The witch approached Brienne and, without looking away from her eyes, put a claw to the place on Brienne’s hip where she had once removed the scales to heal Jaime. Under her hand, the spot burned. “Twelve moons ago,” the witch said, “you interfered with my sacrifice.” She shifted her head and Brienne could see that there was a wide stripe of white hair starting at the woman’s temple. “All of those men should have perished. But one survived. I have scoured the ocean for this man in order to finish the sacrifice, but he has not returned. You stole his life from me. So now I will take the lives of you and your entire pod in exchange.” 

Brienne could hear the others struggling alongside her but she could not look away from the witch. “Please, I did this, not my people. Take my life - let them live.” 

The selkie was not satisfied. “The lives of merfolk and selkies are not precious to the gods - the lives of men are. And this man is worth more to them than all of you. But… if you could find the man...” 

Brienne hesitated, then, “Yes?”

The witch cocked her head. “If you could do what I could not, and bring him here - then you and your people could go free.” 

Jaime’s eyes fading to darkness in death flashed across her mind. “If I bring him here, beneath the waves, he will already be dead - what good does that do for your sacrifice?”

The witch arched her brow, “You stole his life from me. It is now _ your _ sacrifice: either you drown him or you kill everyone you care for and lose your life as well.”

“Brienne,” her father said behind her, knowing nothing of Brienne’s inner torture, “Our people could have a chance to live, we could have a chance.”

“I know.” She wished it wasn’t this way, by all the gods. “Only I do not know whether I can.” She turned to the witch, “You say he has not returned to the sea in twelve moons. How can I find him when you have not?” 

“He is a knight, sworn to the king - you should have no trouble finding him once you’re on land.” 

“On land?” 

“You will go to the surface. The gods will give you legs. They will even give you beauty so that you might entice him to follow you with their magic, for it is better for all if he does so, and men are easily drawn in by beautiful things.”

“I thought that your kind could do that without--”

“--Yes, but if we are away from our skin for too long, we will remain human. None of us can afford that. As long as you return to the ocean by the next new moon, you shall resume your current form. And so long as you drown him and bring his body to me, the rest of you will not be destroyed. 

Brienne agreed. 

No one tried to stop her. 

The witch dug her claws into Brienne’s scales and shredded her tail painfully, filling the water with blood and skin and screams - both from Brienne and the terrified merfolk at her side. When the cloudy water began to clear, her lower body was human - scratched and bloody but human. The selkie floated her backward toward the entrance to the cave while gripping her neck and face, sealing her gills. With little ceremony, Brienne was shoved into the whirlpool that blocked the cave entrance like a churning water spout. It heaved her to the surface and into the air, gasping. 

Her legs did not work like her tail did, her arms felt weak, breathing hurt, and she could barely move. Eventually she tired out and drifted. 

When Brienne woke again, she was still rocking with the motion of the sea. She was laying in some sort of bed - not soft as she was accustomed to, but clean, dry. Her skin felt itchy and when she opened her eyes she realized why. Someone had dressed her in linens, much like she’d seen Renly in as a boy. Her legs felt heavy - someone had bandaged them beneath the long shirt. And there was a man seated in the corner of the room. Older, a black and silver beard clinging to his face. Staring at her. 

She made as if to speak but she found that her throat was too dry, too contained. The man saw her movements and got up to bring her water in a tankard, which she gulped, parched in a way she’d only felt on that sand bar long ago. 

The man asked for her name, but still no words would come. So he gave her his - Davos - and told her that they had fished her out of the sea. He told her that they preserved her modesty as best they could, and that on a ship full of smugglers, she could be assured of their silence on the matter. He continued, explaining that they were sailing for something called the capital, on a ship called Quiet Isle. He told her that once she was able to tell them who she was and where she came from, they would find a way to get her there somehow - as a secondary thought he asked whether she knew her letters and could write it down, but she shook her head not understanding the question. 

He left her in peace and she slept again. Eventually Davos sent a maester known only as Elder Brother in to check her bandages. He asked her name too, and Brienne’s voice finally came out but only in pieces. Struggling to get the words - any words - out, she babbled and said everything she could think of. She tried to tell Elder Brother that she needed to see Ser Jaime; that she was attacked by selkies; that her people were in danger and she needed Ser Jaime’s help. But all that rose to the surface were disparate syllables which Elder Brother and Davos cobbled together and declared to be her name; she was too tired to correct them.

On the second day, she was able to sit up in the uncomfortable bed. She had spent enough time on the surface to understand what a reflection was, but the face she saw in the looking glass hung on the wall was as unfamiliar to her as Elder Brother himself. 

Her hair was still yellow, but it was soft to the touch in the air unlike before. Her skin was clear - the freckles and reddened patches gone. Her shoulders were narrow, almost petite. And she knew at a glance that she was beautiful, as the red witch had promised. Only her eyes seemed unchanged. 

Two days later they were preparing to land and Brienne was finally able to utter the words “Ser Jaime” unbroken. From her pantomime that followed, Davos was able to discern that she wanted to be taken to a Ser Jaime - and he only knew of the one. 

When the ship landed, he disembarked with her and escorted her on her new barely-stable legs to the Red Keep wearing the only dress that the smugglers had on board which was small enough for her new petite frame - pink with Myrish lace. It suited her, though she imagined that anything would suit this false body; it certainly would not have done for her true form. 

At the gates of the castle, Davos presented himself as a knight and asked to be taken to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and they are led to the White Sword Tower to await his return from a Small Council Meeting. 

Having had no experience with stairs, Brienne was struggling by the time they reached their destination, and she could feel sweat - another new sensation - pooling under her arms and at the backs of her knees. Davos settled her in a chair and walked out into the hall to try and source some water for the lady. 

The Lord Commander did not keep them waiting long, and met Davos outside the door. She could hear their conversation, and the dampness persisted at her joints and, now, at the back of her neck. Davos was telling the man her story - that she’d been found stranded in the ocean and that she had spoken few words, but insisted that she needed to come to him. Davos gave the man the name he and Elder Brother had forged from her first words, and she heard Jaime’s voice reply “...but I don’t know anyone called Cersei.” 

She stood and reached for the door, desperate - perhaps once he saw her face he would not question it, perhaps… no, she was too weak from the climb. She was able to grip the door and saw Davos turn toward her as she fell to the ground. She was instantly gathered up in someone’s arms - arms that felt cool next to her overexerted flesh - and carried back into the room to the chair that she had abandoned. Dizzy, she kept her eyes down until she saw Jaime’s hand - his right hand - holding her own. The injuries had healed, but there was still a bit of puckered pink scarring along the side of his wrist and across his knuckles. 

Jaime knelt in front of her, trying to meet her glance, and she could see that the line on his forehead was gone, but his eyes - those were the same as she had dreamt in the eon since she had seen him. Davos was there too but once Brienne caught sight of those familiar green eyes right in front of her, there could have been no one else in the world for all she knew. 

Jaime got out “My lady, are you--” and she was fairly sure that his next word would have been “well” but his eyebrows knit together and he started, sitting back on his heels, making her drop her free hand which had absently reached up to graze the spot where the scar should have been, just over his eye. 

He stared into her eyes for an eternity, and she thought perhaps that the witch’s magic was working; that Jaime was falling for her beauty. But then he looked down, seeing that the fingers of the hand he held were glancing across the residual scars on his wrist. 

“I know you,” he said. 

“Well I should hope so,” said Davos from somewhere above them.

Brienne felt her stomach drop. If he knew who she was, then he would know that she was not beautiful. He would not follow her. 

Suddenly Jaime gasped for breath as if he’d been submerged until that moment and was breaking the surface of the pools in her eyes. “Is it…” he reached his other hand up to cup her cheek, and his fingers grazed the place where her gills should be. “Brienne?” 

Brienne felt errant tears threatening the corners of her eyes. She wanted to shake her head. She wanted to lie. But she couldn’t. She nodded and Jaime caught one of her tears with his thumb. 

“Ser Davos,” Jaime said without looking away, “thank you for returning my… cousin to me. It has been some time since I last saw her and I almost did not recognize her.” Finally he looked up at the other man and stood. “Can I do anything for you in return, ser?” 

Ser Davos smirked and looked at Brienne to confirm that she was alright. She gave him a smile which he returned. “No, ser. I’m only glad the lady is with friends now.” He said his goodbyes and, once he was gone, Jaime dropped back to his knees in front of her and held her shoulders.

He smiled, “I would know those astonishing eyes anywhere.”

She grinned sadly and cupped his jaw as if to say the same of his, her hand acting apart from her brain. She knew that she had to harden her heart against him if she was going to go through with this. Her own life was at stake. The lives of her people were at stake - her father. She had a chance to save them, and Jaime was the key. 

“But,” he said, pushing his forehead against hers, breathing her in and making her pulse quicken, “you’re so changed… and I-- where have your freckles gone?” 

The sentiment stuck in Brienne’s gut like a hook. The witch could not have anticipated this. _ She _ could not have anticipated this. The gods could not have guessed that she had already been beautiful in Jaime’s eyes, or that he had spent as much time dreaming of her as she of him. 

Killing him would be much more painful than she had imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the final chapter [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50470772)


	23. "You can't give more than yourself." (A phone call)

Brienne squinted at the phone screen as it lit up with a new call in the dark. She sighed and sat up in the bed, tucking a pillow behind her back. She flipped the lamp on and then swiped right to answer the call. 

“Jaime you have to stop calling me so late.”

“Why?” His voice was quiet; he sounded hurt by why she said.

“Jaime, we talked about this. I’ve got a lot of work to do in the morning. Half the reason I left town was so that I could get that work done without interruption or interference.” 

“Can I text you then?”

“Jaime.”

“I miss you.”

She swallowed hard. “I know, Jaime ...I miss you, too, okay? It’s… But you can’t keep doing this.”

“I need to talk to  _ some _ body, Brienne.” 

“What about Tyrion?”

“Still in prison.”

“You still haven’t gone to see him.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“No… not yet.”

“And Cersei?”

“She’s the problem.”

She put a second pillow behind her back, sitting up straighter. “Right. Yeah, I know.”

“How’s the search going?”

“Slowly. I talked to a couple of witnesses who may have seen her but the details are really vague.” She heard something shuffling in the background like plastic crumpling. “Where  _ are _ you?”

“The downstairs bathroom.”

“In… the bath?”

“I mean yeah but not like...I’m not naked.” She felt her face heat up. “Where are  _ you _ ?”

“Um… bed?” The heat crept down her neck. “It’s 1 in the morning, Jaime.”

“No I meant--”

“--Oh, still in Duskendale - the Inn on Route 18.”

“That’s not far at all.”

“It’s not.”

“I could drive there.”

“Jaime--”

“ _ You  _ could come back  _ here _ .”

“ _ Jaime _ .”

“Cersei is making me crazy.”

Brienne pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s going on? Besides the standard stuff.”

“She won’t leave the house.” 

“I assume that’s a directive from your dad?”

“My father doesn’t care either way, he’s too busy with the ‘investigation’.”

She could hear the air quotes he probably made even though she couldn’t see him. “They took him off of the investigation, didn’t they?” 

“Yeah, but he’s got a lot of--”

“--buddies, yeah of course he does.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t do Tyrion any favors.”

“I think dad is well aware of that.”

“Right. Okay so Cersei won’t leave the house - is that necessarily a bad thing?”

“She won’t let Myrcella and Tommen leave the house either. She thinks there was a conspiracy. I’m trying to be supportive, you know, for the kids. But it’s hard. I really think she’s losing it.”

“Are the cloaks still doing the welfare checks?”

“Twice daily.”

“Well that’s good - that’s about as much as you can hope for outside of convincing her--”

“--she doesn’t want me leaving the house either.”

“Ah… are you… regretting staying with them?”

“It was definitely easier when I slept at my own place. I miss it.” What precisely he missed went unspoken but she heard it all the same. She also missed having someone else next to her in the bed, even if it was platonic - or as platonic as they told themselves it was. “But I don’t regret being here for the kids. I just wish she would listen to me. Joff was clearly the target, the other two aren’t in danger.”

“Are you comfortable leaving her alone with the kids so that you can take a breather?”

“That’s kind of what I’m doing right now.”

“I mean is there a chance that she would hurt herself?”

“Outside of poisoning her own liver? No. She’s too narcissistic for that.”

“What about the kids?”

“She’s their mother.”

“But if she’s…”

“No I… I know what you’re saying but no, I don’t think… she couldn’t hurt the kids. Especially not now. She’s holding onto every bit of family she can.” 

“Except Tyrion?”

“Except Tyrion. She doesn’t want me visiting him.”

“I can’t imagine what she’s going through; maybe once some time has passed… gods that sounds awful to say, but maybe eventually she won’t see Tyrion as the monster she thinks he is.”

“I’m doing all I can to press his case with her but…”

“It’s hard. And you’re already doing so much.”

“I wish it was enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“ _ I’m _ not enough. She’s leaning on me really heavily and..”

“You  _ are  _ enough, Jaime.” She heard him sniff and take a deep breath. “Are you sleeping okay?”

“Not really. I miss… She’s keeping me up at all hours. Ranting about how unfair it all is and how I’m not doing enough. By the time I crawl into the guest room to sleep it’s already daylight.”

“Jaime, you couldn’t possibly be doing more. You’ve taken a leave from work, you’ve moved into the house. You’ve been doing the chores and the shopping--”

“--I mean we’re getting it delivered but--”

“You’re doing  _ all  _ of that. You have made so many sacrifices to be there for her right now. You can’t give more than yourself, but somehow you’re managing to give 110%. That’s what you do, and I don’t know how. You can’t keep borrowing against your own well-being.”

“Yeah?”

“Jaime.”

“I know, Brienne.”

“You need to sleep. You  _ need _ to take care of yourself.”

“It’s harder without you here.”

Brienne wiped what she thought might be a tear from the corner of her eye and frowned into the phone but didn’t respond.

“Brienne?”

“I thought it would be better now. You said Cersei was hard on you about me being around.”

“She was. She doesn’t like anyone taking my attention away from her under normal circumstances - you got to see that, before--”

“--Oh so that wasn’t just about the fact that it was me, then? I feel slightly better about her calling me a great cow now.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“That doesn’t--”

“You don’t need to apologize for her, Jaime. She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she’s said worse behind my back. It doesn’t matter.”

“When you were in town she would say some pretty nasty things, but not anymore. Since you left, she’s been almost… sweet? - at least until the wine comes out.”

Brienne shook her head and pulled her knees up to her chest. 

“Brienne?”

“I hate the way she treats you.”

“It’s f--”

“No, it’s not fine, Jaime. She manipulates you and abuses you and uses you up--”

“She doesn--”

“I wish--” the words stuck in her throat. He listened as she took a breath and found them again, “I wish you could have come with me. I really… gods, Jaime, I wish I could have taken you away from there.”

“I couldn--”

“I know. I  _ know _ . It was too soon. And with Tyrion… No, I know. And I know that my being there didn’t exactly help. I just wish there could have been another way. I wish it would have made sense for me to stay, but someone has to find that girl. I had to go.”

“I don’t want you here.”

That stung. “Oh.”

“Shit, that’s not - that came out really wrong. Brienne, I didn’t mean it like that. If I could, I would have you here all the time. You always know exactly what to do. And I - I want you here, Brienne. More than anything. I do. I just meant that I wouldn’t want you to have to deal with her… with Cersei being like this…”

Brienne didn’t respond. 

“She’s awful, I know that. And yes, she takes everything I give, and then demands more. I know that, too. Now she’s talking about making sure Tyrion gets the death penalty… Brienne, I think I hate her.”

“She lost a child, Jaime.”

“Yeah, and what a child.”

“Jaime that’s really unkind.”

“So was he.”

“He was a boy. He… maybe he would have grown up and had better influences. Perhaps once he got out of Cersei’s sphere he would have been something better. We will never know. And for that I am truly sorry.” 

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Jaime?”

“Do you think she had something to do with it?”

“Cersei? Why--”

“No, Sansa. Do you think she did this?”

“Oh. No, Jaime I don’t. She’s a child, too.”

"Her family has resources.”

“Her parents are dead. She doesn’t have access to those resources. She doesn’t even have a credit card - that’s what’s making this so difficult.”

He sighed heavily. “You’re right. I know you are. Again.”

“Your nephew went to a private school where he was a terrible bully and probably did things to some of those kids that won’t come out for years - we’ll likely never know about them - I imagine there were a lot of victims’ families who had resources.”

“So you think it was one of them?”

“Well, I don’t think it was Sansa, and neither do the gold cloaks. They seem to really think it was Tyrion--”

“--But you don’t.”

“--but I don’t. But my opinion doesn’t matter. Whatever facts there are, they will find them.”

“Tyrion had a reason to do it. He certainly had the means.”

“Jaime, your brother couldn’t have hired someone to do this. He wouldn’t have. I know you know your brother well enough for that.”

“I just… Cersei really--”

“Jaime, stop.”

“...What is it?”

Brienne dropped her knees and sat cross-legged, pressing her elbows into the insides of her knees. 

“You need to get away from her. For a night, maybe 48 hours, ask the cloaks to keep an eye on the kids. And then you need to go, sleep, and then go see your brother.”

“She’ll know.”

“Good! Jaime, Tyrion hasn’t stopped being your brother just because Cersei thinks he’s evil. Do _you_ think he did it?”

He didn’t respond. 

“Jaime?”

“No. You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

“He deserves to hear you say that.”

More silence. Another sniffle. Silence again. 

“Jaime.”

His voice is raw now. “You’re right. I’ll leave in the morning before she wakes up. Should I… do you think I should take the kids with me?”

“Do... you think Cersei is a danger to them?”

“I think she might start throwing things when she realizes I’ve left, even if it’s temporary.”

“Okay. Let me think a second… would your father agree that she could get physically violent?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think he would.”

“Okay. Hear me out. Call your father.”

“Bri--”

“Call him. Right now. Wake him up. Tell him you’re concerned for his grandkids and that you want to place them with another family member until Cersei is well. Tell him you want him to get a social worker over to talk to Cersei tomorrow - but he’d better send a pair of gold cloaks with them just in case. Stan and Dav still live in town, right?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t spoken to Stannis--”

“I have - I spoke to them at the funeral. I’ll call them now - one of them is usually still up around this time watching those old pirate movies. I’m sure they’d take them in for a while. Just get yourself and the kids out of the house in the morning. I’ll ask them to drive by to pick them up around 7 if that works, and then you can go back to your place for a few hours. Sleep. The prison has visiting hours until 8pm, so you’ll have the whole day to get over there to see Tyrion.”

“This is what I’m talking about, Brienne. You always know the next right thing. You’re incredible.”

“I’m nothing special, Jaime. I’m just outside the situation, so I’ve got a different view of it, that’s all.”

“You significantly undersell yourself.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, but she felt her cheeks heating again. “Thank you. Now promise me you’ll get out of there.”

“I will - we will.”

“And promise me you’ll sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll go see Tyrion.”

“Good.”

“Since I’m not supposed to call you, where are you going next?”

“I’ll be here through the weekend probably. By then I’m hoping to know whether I need to keep heading north or not.”

“Good. After I see Tyrion tomorrow, I’ll come see you.”

She was sure she imagined her heart skipping a beat. “Jaime I told you, I’m working.”

“Not when you’re sleeping, though. C’mon we both slept better with someone else in the bed, didn’t we?”

The tiny pool of sweat forming at the back of her neck was less imaginary.

“I mean not just someone, I-- Brienne-- I mean… I sleep better with you… there. It might help reset my um… what did you just call it?”

“Borrowing against your own well-being?”

“Yeah, that. I would very much like to do something about that. And I think seeing you would go a long way to help. Is that okay? If I drive up tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, Jaime. That’s… I think I’d like that.”

“Okay.” He was definitely smiling on the other end of the line.

She smiled back. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50432243)


	24. "Patience... is not something I'm known for." (Sense and Sensibility Adaptation - Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the Previous chapters of this adaptation:
> 
> [Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50007698)
> 
> [Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50235191)

Mr. Snow’s tone when speaking of Colonel Casterly in company did not improve. To Brienne, he seemed crueler by the day, but Sansa was enamored with him, and so Brienne bit her tongue, taking her frustration out on a practice dummy whenever the Blackfish was unavailable. But when her sister's paramour eventually turned his biting tongue to their mother, Brienne did not hold back. 

They had been picnicking on the grass behind the cottage when Catelyn brought up her ideas for improvements to the house. She had spoken with Lord Edmure, and he had suggested that he bring a carpenter with him on his next call, that they might discuss her plans for the addition of a veranda at the back of the house, precisely where they sat just then. 

“That,” said Ramsay, picking at some cold chicken, “I could not allow. How could you make any changes to this house where we have all spent so many pleasant hours together.”

“Ramsay!” cried Mrs. Stark, “I mean to improve it - that we might elevate ourselves from the dirt and the beetles. Be patient with me, I’m still working out the particulars.”

“Patience,” he said quite firmly, “is not something I’m known for.”

“And what concern of it is yours, Mr. Snow?” Brienne was toying with the butter knife she’d been using at that moment. 

“Come, Brienne,” he said, “I though you of all people would understand - don’t you practice with your foil on this spot?” 

She could see the gleam in his eye and she knew that the use of both her given name and his diminishment of the type of blade she used were purposeful. She did not correct him, she only set the butter knife down pointedly. “I do most of my sparring at the Park, Mr. Snow, but there is plenty of flat land here, I needn’t have this particular strip of grass if our mother wishes to beautify her home.”

Ramsay muttered something then, and Sansa glared at him and started to speak, but then found herself on her feet, spinning with him in the grass as if nothing had been said. And though Catelyn had not heard his words, Brienne had. In any case, “She’s not actually your mother,” was only hurtful to Brienne. She wound up taking that out on a practice dummy with her sword early the next morning. 

***

The following week, approximately four into their acquaintance with Mr. Snow, Sansa asked to stay back from a visit to the Park. Catelyn, believing that they were to expect the heralding of wedding bells on their return, gave her leave to remain. But when they arrived, Ramsay’s curricle was parked at the door and his menacing hounds were guarding it. 

Catelyn, unable to think the worst of him, cited a want of privacy. But Brienne felt the risk in their waiting too great. She aided Arya in climbing through a window, into the kitchen. Moments later, there was a shout, and Ramsay ran out through the door with Arya at his back, swinging a fire poker. 

“What is the meaning of this, Arya?!” Catelyn moved to make her apologies to Ramsay, but one of his dogs stood between them growling. He called the dogs off and made to appease Catelyn, saying that he’d done nothing. Arya whispered to Brienne that Sansa had been crying, and so while Arya stood beside her mother, grasping the fire poker, Brienne ran inside to see to her sister. 

She found Sansa tugging the shoulder of her dress up into place from whence, she told Brienne, it had slid when she had gathered the sleeve to wipe her eyes in lieu of a handkerchief. “What has happened, Sansa?” she asked in disbelief, “has he done something? Did he hurt you?” Sansa studied the cuff of her sleeve and then looked up at Brienne. “You must be happy now. You don’t like him - you never did - and now he will leave us. Finally you and your propriety will have the run of the household again.” And with that, Sansa spun and climbed the stairs, ignoring Brienne’s calls. 

Catelyn and Arya joined her in the hall shortly as the sounds of Ramsay’s cart grew more distant. Catelyn, after removing her bonnet and gloves, explains that he had to take his leave quite abruptly - that Lady Bolton was sending him on business to King’s Landing and that he did not know when he might return. “Possibly there is more to the tale,” Catelyn suggested, sitting down in the drawing room after confiscating the poker and sending Arya to bed without dinner. “Perhaps Lady Bolton does not approve of Sansa. Or perhaps they quarreled, though that is unlikely.” 

But Brienne’s unease was at least equal to Arya’s. She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust. “I do not like this - our acquaintance are quickly diminishing - first Colonel Casterly is suddenly called to town, and now Mr. Snow is sent there?” 

“Brienne one can have naught to do with the other. How incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good. What is it you suspect Ramsay of?”

“I can hardly tell you, myself.”

“Perhaps they are engaged. Perhaps - perhaps Ramsay came to propose but because of Lady Bolton’s feelings it must be kept secret.”

“Engaged!” Brienne cried in shock, “No indeed. I confess his behavior to her this last fortnight points to an attachment - proper or not - but his manner, and her mien on our return this evening… Sansa was silent on the subject, she only said that he was leaving. No, if they were engaged, Sansa would have at least told us. I do not think she would have taken herself above stairs without at least telling you of her joy, even if it must be hidden.”

“I require no such proof and Ramsay does not deserve your suspicion, Brienne.” Catelyn took herself to her room, leaving Brienne to coordinate dinner with the servants.

When Sansa rejoined Brienne and Catelyn at dinner time, her eyes were red and swollen, and it seemed as if her tears were even then restrained with difficulty. Her family steered clear of any subject which might alarm her oppressed spirits. 

***

A week after Ramsay’s departure, Sansa was prevailed on to join her sisters in their exercise as they walked along the banks of the river. Sansa walked far ahead of Brienne and Arya but eventually Brienne tired of the continued seclusion and caught up to her, pulling her between herself and their sister.  Together they climbed a hill along the road and on reaching the summit, they stopped to look around them, enjoying the prospect from a spot which they never happened to reach in any of their walks before.  Amongst the objects in the scene they soon discovered an animated one; it was a man on horseback riding towards them up the road from the fork. In a few minutes they could distinguish him as a gentleman, and moments later Sansa rapturously exclaimed that it was Ramsay, and hastened to meet him. 

Brienne cried out, “Indeed Sansa, I think you are mistaken; the person is too tall for him and I do not see the dogs.”

“It is he!” cried Sansa, “I am sure he has come - I knew he would soon return!”

She walked eagerly as she spoke and Brienne, feeling certain that it was not Mr. Snow, quickened her pace and lengthened her stride in order to catch up with her sister and screen her from particularity. Sansa was 30 yards from the man when she looked again and abruptly turned around, her heart sinking within her, and found herself meeting Brienne’s arms.  Brienne pulled her sister close, whispering unwanted comfort, and then took her by the shoulder and turned to walk her back toward the hill; but then Arya raised her voice to detain them, pointing behind them. Another voice, one which Brienne secretly knew as well as her own, seemed to call her name and then joined Arya’s in begging them to stop. 

Brienne looked over her shoulder and froze, her fingers digging into Sansa’s arm. Her sister, with a mood wholly changed, spun around with surprise and then broke from Brienne and ran up the road to welcome the unmistakable figure of Jaime Lannister. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the next chapter [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50411789#workskin)


	25. "I could really eat something." (Sense and Sensibility Adaptation - Part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the month this will be transitioned to an actual chapter fic but until then, parts it is:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50007698)   
[Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50235191)   
[Part 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50409611)

He was the only person in the world who could at that moment be forgiven for not being Ramsay Snow; for though Sansa bemoaned Brienne’s propriety, the importance of her sister’s happiness far outweighed that in Sansa’s estimation, and so she sought to show Jaime the utmost cordiality, greeting him with even more warmth of regard than Brienne herself. 

But in Jaime there was a deficiency of all that a lover ought to look and say - Brienne was cognizant of it, and had no doubt that Sansa was as well, and so Brienne carried on as if naught was the matter. Yet her sister saw and listened with increasing surprise. She almost began to feel a dislike of Jaime when she called to mind Ramsay’s attentions and how his manners were so striking in contrast to those of this brother elect. 

Sansa tried even involving Arya in pushing Jaime and Brienne to walk together back towards the cottage, but Brienne and Arya both would always lead the discussion back onto group subjects saying “Mr. Lannister when were you last at Winterfell, you know we all loved it there at this time of year” (“I have not yet been there since the leaves have begun to turn but I am sure it is beautiful.”), and “Jaime, how long have you been traveling, are you hungry? (“Miss Arya I have not dined since yesterday - I could really eat something.”), and “Sansa we must show Mr. Lannister the godswood at Riverrun Park and let him tell whether it is not unlike that of Winterfell.” But on the latter, Jaime begged off - “I’m afraid,” said he, “that my father and Ser Brynden have some history which I do not wish to dredge up for the man on whose land I shall be visiting. I am glad to be seeing the Miss Starks, but I would not wish to impose my presence on any of the Tullys.”

Catelyn was surprised only for a moment at seeing Jaime, for his coming to Riverrun was, in her opinion, of all things the most natural. He received the kindest welcome from her; and his shy, if cold, reserve could not stand against such reception. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all then, and his interest in their welfare became perceptible. But he was still out of spirits, which Catelyn attributed to some want of liberality in his father. 

“What are Lord Lannister’s views for you at the present, Jaime,” said she when dinner was over and they had gathered close to the fire, “are you still to pursue a life in law or politics despite yourself?”

“No, thank the gods, I think I’ve now impressed on my father that his vision for me does not suit. Not that I’m any closer to the living I want, but still.”

“What of the living you’re owed by birth?”

“It’s not mine, Mrs. Stark - I have an elder brother who was meant to inherit - unfortunately he and my father have never gotten along; they had a falling out many years ago when I was rather young and my father disowned him. As much as I would appreciate a living, until my father makes peace with my brother, I shall not accept it. My brother thinks me a fool, but who are we if not our morals? And so you see, it is my own fault that I must rely on my sister and my generous friends - please do not pity me for that.”

“It is an honorable choice, Mr. Lannister.” Brienne thought she saw him return the sentiment to her with the quietest spark in his eyes, but then he turned back toward the fire. “Not all choices can be so, Miss Stark. But in this one I have confidence.”

“Honorable!” cried Sansa, “You should take it and then it will be yours to distribute. You will have an opportunity to help your brother then!”

Brienne glared at her sister, and Sansa returned it twofold.

“Nay,” said Jaime, “I do not want the privilege of it. There is too much notoriety in it. I have only ever wanted a quiet life. Being warden of the West holds no interest for me. I’ve made mistakes in my life, most of which I would hope will never be familiar to those whom I call friends, but please believe that I am not suited to the responsibility. It comes at too high a cost to my sensibilities.”

“I wish that someone would give _ me _ a large fortune,” said Arya from her forgotten corner. 

Jaime seemed to lighten up at this, “And what would you do with it, Miss Arya?”

“Sail!” she replied, without a second thought, “I want to see what is beyond the horizon.”

Jaime finally smiled at that. “Indeed, I think you would. Truly, I think I know what each of you might do if fortune so favored you.”

This was the liveliest Sansa had seen Jaime and she encouraged him - “Very well, tell mother’s first.”

“Oh, Sansa. I would be puzzled on how to spend a large fortune if my girls were already rich without my help.”

“You must begin improvements on the house,” nudged Brienne.

“Miss Stark is right,” came Jaime’s reply, quiet but gaining confidence, “I’m reminded of your notions over dinner. The changes you wished to make to the front parlor and the addition of a veranda at the back overlooking the valley - that would make for a very pretty prospect, I think, and I’m sure the masons and carpenters would charge you prettily for it. But ah, you’re such a generous spirit you might rejoice in letting them cheat you!”

“Oh Jaime,” cried Catelyn, giddy, “you have the right of it.” How nice, Catelyn thought, that where Ramsay had been firm in his vision of the cottage, Jaime thought was kind enough to embrace hers.

“Me next, Jaime.”

“Ah, Miss Sansa - I know your greatness of soul - what a happy day for booksellers and music-sellers it would be. You would purchase all of your favorites over and over to prevent them falling into unworthy hands, and you would have every book that told you how to admire a weirwood - should you not?” He was smiling now, “You see? I’ve not forgotten our old disputes over poetry.”

Sansa smiled back, “I love to be reminded of the past, Jaime. You will never offend me by talking of former times, particularly when I see how warm you are to those memories.” She said this last with a pointed look at Brienne, who looked at her hands. Sansa then entreated Jaime to predict her elder sister’s use of their fantastical fortune. 

Jaime turned to look at Brienne but then found himself looking into the fire. “Miss Stark would give a general commission to the printmakers, for every new print of merit be sent her, and when she should find one she dislikes, I think she would send to town for the finest brushes and pigments, and cover it until it was to her liking. And if any should question her preferences, she would challenge her critics and strike them down with her sword.”

Brienne felt herself coloring and could hear the smile in Jaime’s voice, though she avoided his glance, but Mrs. Stark laughed, “Do you call Brienne a perfectionist, Jaime! Or just proud?”

“Neither,” Jaime said, with a glance at Brienne’s hands, and finally shifting to meet her glance, “I would never do either. Miss Stark is discerning. And her tastes should guide the rest of the county. It would be only right for her to make better the inferior works. I would trust the decoration of my own home to no one else!”

Brienne felt a blush creep down her neck to her chest, and Jaime, seeing it, noticed his misstep immediately, and rose to fill his sherry glass. Thankfully, Arya was well on her way to distracting the others from his comment. 

“What care I for finery and fashion and painting, I shall be a pirate queen!”

Jaime chuckled while Mrs. Stark glared at her youngest. “Captain Arya,” he said from the sideboard, “I do believe of all the Miss Starks, you could not be dissuaded from your goal, regardless of your future fortunes.”

Brienne could see, with great uneasiness, the low spirits of her friend and the way that he avoided discussion of that which touched him most, and it kept her from a sound sleep. She attributed his strangeness to the demands of his family - specifically his father who, being wholly unknown to her, was a convenient door at which to lay blame. Though knowing Cersei did not make that action any less convenient. Had she been in her own room Brienne might have eventually slept well after assigning her friend’s behavior to a cause, but she had given her room up for their guest, and now Sansa’s eternally cold feet were pressed against her legs, mocking her while her sister snored. 

***

The following morning, Jaime joined the elder Miss Starks in the breakfast-room before the others were down; Sansa, eager to promote their happiness, soon left he and her sister to themselves. But no sooner had Brienne become aware of the door closing than Jaime was standing apologetically and exiting the room himself, claiming a need to check on his horse, and promising to return when Mrs. Stark was ready to dine. Brienne was left alone and no less concerned than the day before. 

When they did all sit to break their fast together Sansa, sitting beside Jaime, observed on his hand a ring with a plait of hair at its center. 

“Is that Cersei’s hair?” she enquired, knowing one to have been promised by their former hostess to her brother, “I would have thought the hair would be more golden in color, but that looks far paler.”

Jaime colored deeply and, giving a momentary glance at Brienne across the table, replied “Yes, it is my sister’s hair. The setting,” he muttered, “always casts a different shade on it you know.”

Brienne had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair was her own she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Sansa; the only difference in their conclusions was that what Sansa considered a free gift from her sister as she had done for Ramsay, Brienne was conscious must have been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself. Brienne instantly began talking of something else, internally resolving henceforward to catch every opportunity of eyeing the hair and satisfying herself, beyond all doubt, that it was exactly the shade of her own. 

***

Jaime remained at the cottage a week. He walked with the sisters to the village every day, toured the river with Brienne and Sansa while Arya kept her mother company on the now-familiar hill with the fine prospect, and sparred with both Arya and Brienne, remarking on the former’s improved skill, and giving credit to the latter’s tutelage. 

Sparring was the only time that Brienne felt alone with Jaime - the only time she felt that she could be close to him without shying away. Even though they were in full view of everyone else, they moved around each other in a familiar dance and their foils sang to one another. Here they could tease each other in a way that, had they no swords in hand, would certainly have been called flirtation by an outside party. Here they were protected. It was the only place where one did not hesitate when their body brushed the other’s. And it was the only time that one touched the other purposely.

After several days of walking the unfamiliar picturesque landscapes and being among friends, Jaime’s spirits during the last two days of his visit were greatly improved, though still unequal to what a friend might call usual. He grew more and more partial to the house and its surroundings, and never spoke of going away without a sigh. 

On one occasion, Lord Edmure and his uncle came to call unexpectedly, and even then, despite the anticipated cold greeting from the Blackfish, Jaime seemed rather at ease. The old battle axe dismissed him out of hand for being his father’s son, but on his leave-taking he embraced Jaime’s arm as one might an old comrade. Jaime and Lord Edmure were on more stable ground. Edmure enquired after Jaime’s brother, and accepted the reply (he had seen him of late, and hoped he would be in better spirits soon). Edmure invited him to come and stay at the Park the next time his brother was of a mind to travel, and Jaime gave an assurance that he would, by the leave of his friends the Starks. 

What followed was a persistent state of half-cheerfulness which Jaime sustained through his own departure. When asked to whence he would travel, he indicated his decision to go to the North, saying that while neither King’s Landing nor Winterfell held much affection for him, his happier memories were in the North and so we would go to his sister; though he declared, with a nod to Catelyn, that his greatest happiness was with the Starks.

***

“I think,” said Catelyn at their breakfast that final morning, “that you would be happier if you had some employment to occupy your time, Jaime. I do not agree with your father, but you must allow that this idleness does not bring happiness.”

“That is true, Mrs. Stark. Yet I am not at liberty to choose my employment while my father quarrels with me. Perhaps one day he will allow me my independence but, until then, I must either hope for some windfall from a mystery benefactor,” he said this last with a wink to Arya, “or keep moving about the country until he gives up on landing me.”

“And should you one day have sons,” continued Catelyn, “they will be brought up to choose their own lives and occupations, and idleness would be discouraged?”

Jaime grew serious and quiet. “My dear Mrs. Stark, any of my children would be brought up to be as unlike my wretched self as possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing save perhaps my sense of justice.”

“You are a good man, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne insisted quietly, “pray do not abuse yourself so.”

Jaime’s mouth moved into a smile but it did not reach his eyes, and he did not look up. “You have always thought the best of me, Miss Stark, and set me to rights like one of your drawings. Would that you and your family were still in Winterfell, you might all comfort me through my sister’s intemperateness.”

This desponding turn of mind gave additional pain to them all in parting, which shortly took place, and left an uncomfortable impression on Brienne’s feelings especially, which required some trouble and time to subdue. 

Jaime took his departure with as much ease as he could manage. Mrs. Stark embraced him and wished him a safe journey, securing his promise to visit again before the spring with a kerchief to her eyes as if he were going off to war and not to his sister’s manor. Arya bounded up to him from across the yard and he embraced the girl with affection. Sansa, determined to show what Brienne would not, stayed close and spoke up to him as he settled on his horse. 

Brienne, for her part, was determined not to repeat Sansa’s mortifying show of distress of a fortnight past, and to prevent herself from appearing to suffer more than any of the other women. 

Jaime waved his goodbyes, sparing the slightest hesitation when his eyes met Brienne's, and then rode away. Catelyn and Sansa went inside right away with some occupation or another, but Arya begged Brienne to stay awhile and watch until Jaime met the road. He did turn around once, as if looking back on a prospect that he regretted losing sight of, but he did not wave again, and he did not turn his horse and return, and Brienne did not weep.

Afterward, she busied herself, neither seeking nor avoiding mention of his name, appearing to interest herself almost as much as ever in the general concerns of the family, and if, by this conduct, she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least prevented from unnecessary increase. She did not push for solitude, nor did she, on regaining her room from their guest, lie awake the whole night to indulge in meditation, even if an aspect of him seemed to linger still in the air there. In the morning, in a state of half-sleep, Brienne would put her hand to the side table knowing that he had placed his hand there as well, but she found that once awake if she pushed those concerns away, she could instead be afforded leisure enough to think of Jaime and of his behavior in between her doings. 

And if, in the days that followed, she undertook a task which enforced her solitude, it was not looked on strangely when she dedicated herself to it. Then, her mind was invariably at liberty and could not be chained in conversation or elsewhere; instead, she had leave to meditate on the past and future, on a subject so interesting before her, which engrossed her memory, her reflection, and her fancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again - I lean on Jane Austen a LOT for text and dialogue. A lot of this is hers.


	26. "You keep me warm." (A phone call, part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an unexpected continuation of [this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50380421), taking place about 6 months later, and it's based on the song "Christmas TV" by Slow Club (lyrics can be found at the end of the chapter)

Jaime looked at the clock - two minutes past midnight. He yawned. 

Brienne yawned in response. “What time does your flight get in?”

“Uh, 6:15.”

“Okay - any special requests for dinner?”

“No, whatever’s fine.”

“Can I pick you up anything? You have your meds, lotions, whatever? I can get some of that--”

“--I should be okay. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m already packed.” In truth his bag sitting open on the bed with nothing in it yet except socks (for the cold) and condoms (just in case).

“I don’t worry, not really - not anymore, I just meant sometimes you can’t take the whole tube on the plane.”

“Right. Well if they try to stop me I’ll just chase them away with my monstrous arm.”

“It’s just scars, Jaime. Everyone has scars.”

“Mine are worse.”

“They give you character.”

“No,  _ yours _ give you character. They make you look cool. Mine give me a complex.”

“Were you able to get a window seat?”

“Did you really just segue from one of my complexes to another?”

Brienne snorted. “Not all fears are complexes, Jaime. I know you prefer to see the wing when you fly, that’s all.”

“I’m really shaping up to be quite the basket case, aren’t I? Like my sister.”

“Jaime, that’s not--”

“I know, I know.”

“I have flying preferences, too, you know.”

“Needing an aisle seat because your legs are fucking gifts from the gods is not the same.”

“I'm sorry, _w_ _ hat _ ?”

Jaime suddenly realized what he said. He felt himself start to sweat. “I should go.”

“Oh. I’m--”

“--I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“--gonna be up a while longer if you still wanna talk. You know you can call me any time.”

Jaime silently settled deeper into his mattress, warding off the nervous headache at his temples with his free hand. 

“Jaime?”

“Quite the change. Before I wasn’t allowed to call you at all.”

“Well things are different now that the girls are safe.”

“Remind me why you haven’t come home yet?”

“I’m helping their cousin with them until a judge grants him access to their parents’ accounts. Their uncle is coming up next week and that should help move things along.”

“And they won’t mind me being around for a couple of days? Will they make me sit through a screening of _The Long Night_ or is this generation of Starks more averse to torture?”

“You’re not here long, and you’re not going to see them much so don’t worry about it. It’s just Sevenmas Eve dinner. And they all know that you had nothing to do with what happened. You’re not there to harass them, you’re coming as my guest.”

“Right… Still, she’s my sister.”

“You’re not responsible for her, Jaime. She made the choices she made.”

The headache was getting worse. “I saw there’s supposed to be a storm in a couple of days.”

“Oh, yeah, you should get here okay but I’m not sure about that return flight. We’ll have to play it by ear.”

“I told Myrcella and Tommen I would try to see them on Sevenmas--”

“Oh.”

“--but Tyrion’s got them covered - he’s got my gifts - he can take them over to Stan’s if I have to stay over with you longer.”

“Oh. That’s… well as long as that’s okay. It’s their first Sevenmas without their mom around… I would understand if you needed to change your plans.”

“And miss my chance to see you for the first time in six months? Are you kidding? Besides the kids are doing great. They want for nothing - dad’s making sure of that. And Stan and Dav are incredible parents. They can do without uncle Jaime for one holiday. Anyway I promised Myrcella that her aunt Brienne would be back in time for her name day - I didn’t lie about that, right? You’re still planning to come home before the spring?”

“I’m not her aunt, Jaime.”

“Well maybe not really, but it’s easier than telling her that her idol, my best friend Brienne, will be there for her name day.” 

“ _ Idol _ ? Jaime.”

“What, she looks up to you!”

“ _ You  _ look up to me - I’m very tall.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Brienne sounded exasperated, and Jaime couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“You sure you won’t mind having me there a little longer if it comes to it?”

“Well now I don’t know. You’re incredibly annoying and I don’t exactly have a sofa to send you to if you piss me off too much.”

“Oh good, we’re sharing.”

“Unless you piss me off or steal the covers. Then you can sleep on the floor.”

“You love me.”

“Whatever.”

“Who needs blankets, anyway? You keep me warm. It’s much more likely that I’d have to kick you out of the bed for cuddling too hard.”

“I do _not_ cuddle.”

“Whatever you say.”

He could hear her smile, “_The Snark_ is on tomorrow night.”

“Which one?”

“The...good one?”

“Oh. I was hoping it would be the live-action one.”

“Why?”

“Because it scares the crap outta me and I thought you could hold me and keep me safe but--”

“--oh, please, that movie is NOT scary, Jaime.”

“Okay, maybe not but I like when you protect me.”

“Well I’m sure _Grumkins_ will be on at some point, is that scary enough?”

“That is  _ not _ a Sevenmas movie.”

“Of course it is - it takes place at Sevenmas.”

“That’s like saying that _Morghulis Hard_ is a Sevenmas movie.”

“It  _ is _ .”

“Okay, wench.”

“Jaime,” she yawned. 

“Go to sleep, Brienne.”

“I’m okay, I can talk longer.”

“No, no sleep. I’ll text you tomorrow and then I will actually see you in less than a day, and  _ then _ we can talk or whatever until you fall asleep without the risk of you dropping your phone on your face.”

She was laughing. 

“Good night, wench.”

“Jaime?”

“Hmm?”

“When I do come home… I don’t have a proper place to--”

“--don’t be silly, you’ll stay with me until you figure out your next steps. But first let's get you home.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I can’t wait for you to come home, Brienne.”

“Me too, Jaime.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mmmhmm g’night Jaime love you.”

"Love you too. 'Night, wench.” He set the phone down and stared at the all-but empty overnight bag. Then he went to the closet and pulled out a hard-sided suitcase and placed it on the bed next to the bag. He transferred the items from the bag to the suitcase and then went to the armoire and pulled out all of the heavy sweaters he could manage and layered them into the suitcase, on top of the box of just-in-case condoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Christmas TV" by Slow Club
> 
> It's okay to have scars, they will make you who you are  
It's okay to have fear, as long as you're not scared of coming here  
And in the middle of the night, just call if you wanna talk  
'Cause you know that I want to talk, too
> 
> It's not bad of you to think of what might go wrong  
But you can't blame me for secretly hoping that I'll prove you wrong  
It's okay that I pray that you will miss your flight  
And have to stay with me another night
> 
> It is brutal, it's brutal  
Why can't you see?  
It's brutal, it's brutal  
Where have you been?  
'Cause we're far apart, and my lonely heart  
Finds it hard to get through the night  
You pull me out of the dark, and now it's light  
You pull me out of the dark, and now it's light
> 
> When we're out in the market and out on the streets  
I've got a pocket full of problems and a pocket full of seeds  
Hoping something good might grow out of this mistletoe  
And I won't have to erase your memory
> 
> I like the way that our arguments stop when we fall asleep  
And the way that your body feels when it's wrapped around me  
And I'd like it if you made it to mine by Christmas Eve  
So you can hold me  
And we'll watch Christmas TV
> 
> It is brutal, it's brutal  
Why can't you see?  
It's brutal, it's brutal  
Where have you been?  
'Cause we're far apart, and my lonely heart  
Finds it hard to get through the night  
You pull me out of the dark, and now it's light  
You pull me out of the dark, and now it's light
> 
> So come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
Just come on home  
One, two, three, four


	27. "Can you wait for me?" (Mermaid!Brienne AU Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of 3  
Read [Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50144558)  
Read [Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50347427)

Jaime lodged her in one of the lower towers of the keep among the servants whilst she recovered from her exertions. For the first two days, he visited with her whenever he had a free moment, asking her questions which she could not answer, and telling her about the city, which she could view from her small window; on the third day he had arranged to have his duties covered and he spent the whole day recounting for her how his life had altered since she had saved his life. 

Jaime had been born into a great house in the west, but as a young man he had been honored with appointment to a position in the Kingsguard. His father had wanted him to stay at home and promote the family line but Jaime had wanted to be a true knight and he believed serving the king to be the most honorable pursuit, and so he had defied his father and accepted the king’s offer. It was not long before he realized how cruel and mad the king he guarded was, but he had sworn his oaths and he could not leave. 

The night that Brienne had rescued him, the king himself had set fire to the royal ship en route from Dorne to the capital. In the aftermath of the explosion, Jaime had found the king with torch in hand, moving to set fire to the untouched portions of the ship. Jaime had wrestled the torch from the king and thrown it into the sea. In a fury, the king had shoved Jaime backward toward the blaze, screaming “burn them all!” and then chased the extinguished torch into the water. Jaime, like the king and many of the men who’d been traveling with him that night, could not swim. And so even if he had not honorably fought and then found himself in harm’s way, he would not have survived without Brienne’s intercession. 

When the ship had not made its scheduled return to the capital, the king’s son sent a search party south and, though few bodies had washed up on the Stormland shores, it was eventually presumed that all had perished that night, set on by pirates or worse. When Jaime returned some time later after begging his way to King’s Landing, he was welcomed back as a kind of hero by some, and as a fearsome spirit by others. The new king - that sane son of the mad king who’d died - elevated Jaime to Lord Commander. And so now he found himself serving a more worthy king, and he strove to feel deserving of his new station. He never revealed to anyone the terms of the former king’s demise, nor did he clarify the assumed record.

When he had finished his tale, Brienne pantomimed her own as best she could. Jaime managed to gather that she needed to get back to the sea, and that she wanted him to go with her. When she struggled to explain her reason - while avoiding certain facts - he stopped her. He did not need a reason, he had said - she had saved his life, and he would not deny her his help. And so he secured leave from his duties and made arrangements for them to go to the Stormlands with a carriage - since Brienne could not have ridden - and two other guards, leaving four days after her arrival in the capital. 

A fortnight had passed since her transformation before Brienne recovered her voice. And when he heard it again Jaime very nearly cried for, despite being slow to return in this new body, it - like her eyes - had not changed. He took up her hand in his and would not let it go until she had told her story again, without miming it; by then they were almost at Tarth. 

She told him that her form had been altered by a witch who was keeping her family captive, who had turned her in order to punish her for her interference in the shipwreck; she needed Jaime’s help to rescue them because she did not know and trust any other men. She did not tell him at what cost the lives of her family would come until they had been on the island for two days. By then she found that she could lie to him no longer. She’d grown attached to him - more than she ever had with Renly, and with more love than she’d ever felt before. She would not abuse his honor with trickery. 

When she told him the truth of it, he turned her hand over in his as if looking for something, and squeezed it. He said that he understood and that he felt he’d been waiting a year for this - that he had always expected his life to have come at a price; if this was it, he was glad to forfeit his own that those she loved might live; only once they reached the shore where he’d been beached did he ask if there was any way around it - not because he did not want to help her family, but because he did not want her to have his life on her conscience. At this, she became overwhelmed with feeling and he held her until she pulled away and ran to sit on the beach in solitude, unable to bear his proximity. That night he sent his lieutenants back to the capital without them, gold in hand, and secrecy secured. 

Jaime walked to the beach and sat down next to Brienne in the sand, wrapping her in his arms, and she let him. She had ripped the sleeves from her borrowed dress days ago, and now she found that when the air was chilled, Jaime’s arms were just as warm as they had been when they first met, and she sank into them. Hey stayed there many hours, listening to her hum until her voice grew tired and they fell asleep curled against each other.He left her there an hour before sunrise and went back to the inn to don his armor. She woke on his return as the first pink rays of dawn picked at the sky, just like that morning so many moons ago. 

“I can make it easier on you,” he said. “My armor is heavy. Walk me into the sea and it will drag me down.” 

She stared at him. “Why?!” she cried. 

“You are the reason I lived,” he replied with a sad smile. “Let me be yours.” 

She began to say no through her tears. But as the sun peeked over the horizon, his armor cast a golden light all around them, and she found herself looking down at her petite hands and arms, and then down at the sand which now in the low tide continued further east than before.

The armor would sink him. 

It would sink him because it was dense. It was  _ heavy _ . 

She knew what had to be done. 

She stood and took his hand, pulling him behind her, across the sand. When they were just out of reach of the sandbar, she had him sit, and told him to stay in that spot, and then asked for his blade. 

He gave her a strange look but unbuckled the sword belt all the same. 

“What will you do, Brienne?”

“I have to try,” she said sadly. 

He placed the ornate blade with the animal on the pommel in her hand, and then passed her the smaller dagger that he wore on the other hip. When she took the dagger, he clasped her hand. “Swear that I will see you again.” 

She nodded, then knelt in the sand to bring their eyes level. “Jaime, the next time you see me, I will be in my true form.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly and reached out as if to brush sand from her bare unmarked shoulder. He met her glance, “Thank the gods.”

“Can you wait for me?”

“Will you promise to come back?” he asked sadly.

Brienne worried at her lip. “If no one has come for you by sunset, then I have failed and you must go, else you may still be in danger. If that happens, do not try to find me. Go, and do not come back to the sea for anything, ever. Swear to me that you will do as I say.”

He cupped her face, fingers stretching again to that point on her throat where her gills should be, and looked deeply as if re-memorizing her eyes. “I swear it.”

She swallowed and stood up and away from his touch. “Don’t forget to breathe - to,” she gestured for holding breath, not having the words, “please.”

He nodded. “I’ll remember.”

She took one last look at him, storing his golden face and hair in her mind, whispering his name like a wish, and then turned from him. She divested herself of the dress and, clasping the sword in one hand and the dagger in the other, she dove into the waves.

Her form began to revert painfully. She felt the skin of her neck, where Jaime’s fingers had just been, tear open as her gills re-formed, and she twisted in agony as the bones of her shoulders expanded, and her cheekbones stretched. 

But her tail caused the most excruciating pain. The bones of her legs and feet seemed to dissolve as her lower body re-molded into her vivid blue tail. She felt sore, and awkward as she had in youth, swimming crookedly until she could finally control her tail properly and orient herself. 

She navigated the coastal shelf and secreted the dagger. Then she retraced her path, sensing the currents until she thought she had located the whirlpool at the cave mouth, perhaps a league away. 

As she approached the cavern, she whipped her powerful tail harder, speeding up to burst through the watery cyclone. She came out the other side without incident and swam deeper into the cave until she came upon the selkies, still guarding her pod while the witch seemed to be meditating in the corner, her fiery hair glowing brighter than Brienne recalled. Her eyes shot open at Brienne’s approach, and two of the guards moved to block her entry, but the witch waved them off, looking at the sword almost as if with recognition. 

Brienne moved it in an arc through the water, letting it catch the red glow. “This is his,” she told the witch. I was able to lure him to the beach and subdue him, but he is too heavy. The body you gave me on land was weak and could not pull him into the sea. And now that I have my form, I cannot reach him. I have brought the sword as proof of my intent.”

The witch looked at her hungrily. “So close, foolish child. And you let mere weakness get in the way.”

“He is near,” cried Brienne, “Come to the surface if you do not believe me - perhaps you can reach him - your form is more suited for the land.” She stuck the sword into the silt as if to call a truce. The witch nodded with a gleam in her eye and preceded Brienne to the entrance to the cavern. She dragged her claws across the wall near the entrance, and the whirlpool dissipated, allowing them to leave. 

The red woman seemed to know exactly where to find Jaime, and she sped away leaving Brienne struggling to catch up. Before she could, the witch had lurched out of the water and onto the sandbar. In less than a minute, the selkie reappeared, dragging Jaime in his full armor into the water by the leg. As their figures sank, it barely occurred to the witch that she had lost track of Brienne. 

The witch was in such a fury and so committed to finishing the game that she had mislaid the most important player. 

She had sunk with him nearly ten fathoms when the dagger sliced through her neck. 

While the selkie had above the surface, Brienne had recovered the blade and had sat coiled in the shadows until the witch had reappeared beneath the waves. Brienne had followed quick as she could, snapping her tail hard, knowing that Jaime’s life was in the balance. With one final powerful thrust she had reached them and ended the witch’s life and, by association - though she did not know it - the lives of the selkies who guarded the others in the cavern; the seal-skinned creatures had turned to sea foam at the red woman’s demise, floating away and leaving the merfolk surprised, but free. Brienne’s father slowly lead his people back out into the open sea, the god of death having been appeased.

Brienne wanted to rejoice in the death of the red woman, but they were 20 yards below the surface now; Jaime was nearly out of air, and the armor was weighing him down.

Brienne tore at the golden armor and his clothes, removing piece after piece in an attempt to make him more buoyant. She gripped his arms and tried to climb higher, but she had exhausted her newly-re-grown muscles, and was too weak to lift them both; they continued to sink deeper. 

Jaime was getting weaker and even as Brienne’s tears floated free around them, Jaime’s eyes said that he understood. He touched her arm, marveling at the speckled skin of her true self, and then he reached up and stroked her hair which, under water, was softer than silk - she had wanted this that first morning and had longed for it ever since. And now it would be her last memory of him - his fingers running through the hair at the nape of her neck while his palm stroked the skin around her gills. 

She stared at him. 

Her gills. 

She forced Jaime to look at her and, cupping his face, slanted her mouth against his, pushing his lips into an O with her own, sealing him against the sea, and breathing into him.

His eyes widened as his lungs expanded, and she felt him settle his hands on her thick waist where skin met scales, holding her close as they continued to sink downward as one. 

The god of death, having already been sated, took pity on them.

Gently, Jaime pulled away, breaking the seal. Brienne reached for him, desperate to save him again, but then froze. Under her fingers, his skin had split, though he showed no sign of pain as he breathed his first watery breath. He smiled, his startling green eyes fixed on hers, as his bright golden tail fidgeted and flexed below them, and then entwined with hers, pulling her closer still. And though she no longer breathed for him, his mouth sought hers, and he held her in a forever kind of embrace.


	28. "Enough! I heard enough." (S4 Interlude)

“Jaime.”

“Hmmrrmmm?”

“Jaime, wake up.”

“What?”

“You’re dreaming.”

“Mrrrrphhmmm.”

“JAIME.”

“I’m awake. Wh...where am I?”

“My cell. You fell asleep.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Neither have I, and yet you seem to do well enough with my accommodations. Who knew that one could enjoy the dirty floor of a black cell so well? Would you like to trade, brother? Seems you would handle imprisonment far better than I.”

"I _did_. The Starks had me in a cell for twelve moons. Why did you wake me? Do you not enjoy my company?”

“I like _ your _company well enough, brother. It’s the company of your mistress that I don’t know that I care for.”

“...what?”

“Whomever it is you’re sleeping with behind Cersei’s back. She sounds… athletic.”

“Tyrion what are you talking about?”

“The woman you were dreaming of before I woke you just now.”

“I wasn’t--”

“I assure you, you were… unless it’s not a woman?”

“But there isn’t--”

“But you want there to be.”

“I… what did I say? What did you--”

“--Enough! I heard enough.”

“It’s not what you--”

“--I’m sure it’s not.”

“No Tyrion, really. She’s… I sent her away.”

“So she _is _a woman."

"Don't."

"I mean no offense. She's quite impressive."

"..."

Why did you send her away?”

“We both had promises to keep. ...and she was in danger here.”

“In more danger than your little brother in whose prison cell you’re currently sleeping?”

“She was easier to sneak out than you.”

“That massive woman? Easier to sneak out? I would fit it a sack that even you could carry with your one hand, Jaime!”

“I’m hoping to not need a sack when we get you out of here. But if we did, I would at least do you the courtesy of having someone else carry you rather than risking my dropping you on your giant head.”

“Yes instead there’ll be two sacks - one for my giant head and one for my tiny body.”

“No. We’ll find another way. Cersei may yet be prevailed upon.”

“Just don’t let her catch you dreaming, brother. Else we’ll need a much larger sack to fit the two of us.”


	29. "I'm doing this for you." (Sense and Sensibility Adaptation - Part 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being _looks at calendar_ two days late with this one. I was traveling, and got behind. Looks like Fictober will end in early November for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Missed the earlier chapters of this AU? **
> 
> [Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50007698)  
[Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50235191)  
[Part 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50409611)  
[Part 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872868/chapters/50411789)

Not many days after Jaime left, the Tullys arrived on the cottage doorstep with four strangers. Brienne was alone in the house at the time, and it disrupted her solitude but they were not completely unwelcome. 

Ser Brynden introduced his daughter Lysa, Lord Edmure’s sister. A pale, stark woman with a severe nose, Lysa was strangely effusive; she is her father’s daughter in looks and, like him, hers bely her personality. She had arrived the evening before at Riverrun Park with her husband Lord John Arryn, passing through on the way home to Aerie Lodge in the Vale. They had, for the last few days, been in King’s Landing - Lord Jon seeing to matters of business, and Lady Lysa seeing to a doctor who would care for her in her confinement come spring. 

At the mention of this, Ser Brynden had remarked that Lysa should perhaps have made the doctor come to her and saved herself a tiring journey, but Lysa had no interest in being parted from her husband - where he went, so did she. 

Lord Jon, for his part, said little and even less in between, but he shook Brienne’s hand and commented on the attractiveness of the cottage’s front parlor. 

The third person with them is introduced as Lord Arryn’s cousin Mrs. Blackwood, a very pretty widow of thirty who lived in the Arryn home following the death of her husband some four or five years before, and with her is her young daughter who is tall for her age, at only seven almost of an age with Arya. 

When Mrs. Stark and her daughters returned to the house, they were welcomed with a parlor full of new friends, and little Dinah took to Arya immediately. Only Catelyn took at all to Lady Lysa, who was ready to pass on her father’s gossip about Ramsay Snow’s attentions to Sansa and congratulations for an engagement that had not materialized. It was not on this that she and Mrs. Stark found common ground, but on Lady Lysa’s upcoming joy. For her part, she was certain it was to be a boy; Catelyn had no experience in raising boys, but her advice was welcomed readily. 

Sansa was ill-disposed from the state of her spirits to be pleased with any of these guests, but perhaps especially Eliza Blackwood and her daughter. To the invariable coldness of her behavior, Brienne principally attributed that preference of herself and, for the young girl, Arya, which quickly became evident. 

And so it was that as Brienne’s solitude faded, Sansa’s was again elevated and made more prominent by the multitude of invitations to the Park which came to them daily for the next several days, most of which Sansa declined in favor of practicing her instrument alone in the empty cottage. Only on the first day did Sansa join them at the Park and, afterward, Brienne chided her sister for her silence in company, to which Sansa had upbraided her soundly once they were home. “I’m doing this for you,” she had said, “you have been so melancholy since Jaime left, that I thought having family with you would be kinder than leaving you to strangers, but perhaps I was wrong about that.”

Sansa declined to attend dinner with the guests for the remainder of their stay. 

***

“You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,” said Eliza on the fourth day of their residence, as they were walking together from the Park to the cottage with the younger girls playing ahead of them. “Do you know much of your mother? I believe Ser Brynden mentioned that she was from Tarth.”

“No,” returned Brienne, curious, “I know very little of her. Only that she was from Tarth, as you say, from a small family. My father told me that I resembled her a great deal, both in person and in temperament.”

“I am sure you think me strange for enquiring about her in such a way,” said Eliza, eyeing Brienne attentively, “but I had wondered if we might be related in some fashion. I hope you will do me the justice of believing that I do not meant to be impertinent or cause you discomfort.”

“Truly, I have no idea of any familial connection with Blackwoods or Arryns. Perhaps you should apply to your cousin - maybe he has histories that would better inform you. I wonder at your not apply to him first, as I am quite without any record from my mother’s life.”

“I think you _ should _ wonder… if I dared tell you all, Miss Stark, you would not be so much surprised.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brienne, pausing in the path. 

“As we could indeed be family… Miss Stark… Brienne. I wonder… I should wish to share something with you. I would not trouble your sisters or your cousins with this - it is a great secret which I wish kept among those whom I trust the most, and I understand you to be most honorable and trustworthy.”

“I know not by what device you have determined that aspect of my person, but I swear that whatever you wish to tell me - I may be depended upon to keep sacred.”

“Yes, I believe you can.” Eliza continued walking. “Brienne, you may well be surprised, for to be sure you could have no idea of it before… of our acquaintance here, only Lord Arryn and his wife know this, though Lysa does not know all.”

“I begin to think that may be for the best, Mrs. Blackwood,” said Brienne delicately. 

Eliza smiled wryly and continued. “Blackwood… was my grandmother’s maiden name. She hailed from the Stormlands, near Tarth, and as such - yes - perhaps I do have distant family relations I know naught of, but you are more likely to be one than is Lord Arryn.”

Brienne frowned. “I do not understand you. Lord Arryn--”

“--is not my cousin, Miss Stark. My late husband, Dinah’s father, was a cruel man, Brienne. What marks I do not bear on my person still scar my mind. After my daughter was born, he turned especially wicked. He had wanted a son, and I had denied him that. For three years then, I lived - we both did - in torment. He was a judge, Miss Stark, and the magistrates were in his pocket - there was almost no one I could turn to. I thought to run away, but if I took his only child with me, no doubt he would find me again and send me to an institution, or worse.”

“Gods… Eliza--”

“--when I was very young, my mother called me Ella. Eliza wasn’t a far jump. Brienne, my real name is Rhaella. Dinah’s given name is actually Daena. Lord Arryn though it best to keep hers similar as she was so young when we left.”

“Are you-- El--I’m sorry, I don’t know--”

“--Eliza, please. For the others--”

“Of course. Eliza,” Brienne said carefully, “are you... in hiding from your husband?”

“Not him. He no longer lives. We sought shelter from his family. The Targaryens are powerful, and I’m afraid not an empathetic people.”

“Targaryen… My father received a letter some three or four years ago from his barrister, advising him that a judge they knew had been killed in a duel - was that…?”

Eliza walked a few steps before answering, looking ahead at the girls playing. “Officially? Yes. Society respects that kind of death. It’s acceptable, even.”

“And… unofficially?”

“A friend stepped in. Someone who was astounded by the conditions we were living in and alarmed by the injury that my husband had caused. It had been his idea to run away, but I had told him no because I feared Aerys’ wrath. But then my husband started hurting Daena, and our friend could not bear it. It was he who challenged my husband. That was his mistake. In being the one challenged, Aerys was given the choosing of the weapon. Aerys always chose pistols.” Eliza’s voice faded as she collected herself. Brienne patiently walked beside her, moving a little closer to give the other woman some comfort. “He liked the way they sparked when they were fired. But his challenger - our friend - he’s better with a sword. I knew that Aerys might kill him, and then he’d likely hurt us again. Brienne… if I dare tell…”

Brienne stopped and took Eliza’s hands in hers. “Please do not fear. Your secrets you wish to tell, they are safe with me, Eliza.”

She was given a small smile in return. “They are not only mine to tell, Miss Stark. But I think _ he _ would - I _ know _ that he would take comfort in your confidence, that he does already.”

Brienne wracked her mind to imagine whom Eliza could be speaking of. “Who is he, Eliza - your friend - do you mean that I am acquainted with him?”

“Brienne, have you never observed the scarring on Mr. Lannister’s left hand?”

Lannister? Jaime Lannister was not so impulsive or actionable. Could she mean Lord Tywin? She knew that he had very specific ways, and it would not be absurd to think that he might have involved himself in this, but to have thought of Eliza’s well-being seemed strange - he did not seem the type of man to care about anyone outside of his family. Brienne’s eyebrows knit together. “I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with Lord Lannister. We have never met.”

“Oh, Lord Lannister got away from the incident unharmed. But I am speaking of _ our friend _ , Brienne. I speak of Mr. _ Jaime _ Lannister.”

What felt Brienne at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the assertion attended it. She turned toward Eliza in amazement, unable to divine the reasoning of such a declaration, and though her complexion began to warm, she stood firm in incredulity and felt no danger an hysterical fit. “We cannot mean the same Jaime Lannister.”

“We can mean no other, Miss Stark. Mr. Jaime Lannister, the second son of Lord Tywin Lannister in Rains Court, and brother to Mrs. Robert Baratheon, is the person I mean; you must allow that _ I _ am not likely to be deceived as to the name of a man on whom our happiness has depended.”

Brienne felt her steps speeding, as if her legs meant to carry her away from knowledge of Jaime’s past, or perhaps present. “How… how came you to be acquainted with Mr. Lannister?” She slowed herself as best she could to allow Eliza to keep up with her.

“Lord Tywin Lannister was a barrister at one time - that is how he made his fortune - and he was an old acquaintance of my husband’s. The families were somewhat close once, but had grown apart prior to my marriage. The relationship between Aerys and Lord Tywin improved again after we’d been married about a year. Jaime and I were often at the same dinners and parties. He is godfather to my daughter.”

“It is strange,” replied Brienne in a most painful perplexity, “that I should never have heard him speak of you.” Something akin to jealousy seemed to be brewing in Brienne’s chest.

“Not so, considering our situation, and our continued need for concealment.”

“You said scars on his hand? I had not observed--”

“When next you see him, Miss Stark, find occasion to regard the center of his left hand. It is well healed, but the inconsistencies are obvious under examination. I owe much to Jaime Lannister, and he’s very fortunate that those scars are the only physical injury he sustained due to my foolishness.”

“But it is not foolish to be a victim of cruelty, Eliza.”

“I speak of my foolish actions. If anyone knew the truth--”

“Pray, Eliza, what do you mean I have heard so many truths just now.”

The other woman paused, as if estimating Brienne’s ability to endure what came next. “I do not think Mr. Lannister can be displeased when he knows I have trusted you, because I know he has the highest opinion in the world of you, Brienne, and he looks on the Miss Starks as superior sisters to his own. He trusts you above all others.”

Brienne swallowed hard. “I cannot vouch for his certainties - I am not personally acquainted with them.”

“Aren’t you?”

Brienne didn’t know what to make of that look in her companion’s eyes. 

“The morning of the challenge, I was there before the men arrived. Aerys chose pistols as I knew he would, and I knew that Jaime would not succeed against him. I hid myself behind a tree, near where Aerys would be. He and Mr. Lannister met, and then counted out their paces, and then Aerys - he cheated, Brienne. He turned before the count was up.”

Brienne froze. “And Jai--”

“--Brienne, I jumped then from behind the tree with Aerys’ own sword in my hand and I drove it as hard as I could through his back.”

“But you said--”

“--a gun went off - I didn’t know whose until Jaime came racing across the field and moved me away from the body - Aerys had gotten off a shot as he faltered, and it had gone clean through Jaime’s hand.”

Eliza was not only a someone whose history inspired empathy, but she was a savior of sorts as well - even if it had come at the cost of murdering a man who would have easily murdered others. How was one to compete with so many pitiable circumstances? “If what you say is true, then what of the others?” Brienne whispered. “There were witnesses?”

Eliza nodded, “Lord Arryn was there as Jaime’s second. And Lord Tywin was there as my husband’s.”

Brienne felt herself go cold, and gasped. “Lord Tywin would have stood against his own son?”

“If you knew Lord Tywin you might understand. He said he would have only stood if Lord Arryn had taken Jaime’s place, but...”

“Gods be good.” Brienne had known that Lord Lannister was a demanding sort of man, but this was beyond imagination.

“It was Jaime’s idea to take the credit for my husband’s death. Lord Arryn agreed to take Dae-- Dinah and I away, and Lord Tywin - he did what he could, using his influence to keep details out of the newspapers.”

“Is that why we’d never heard anything of it?”

Eliza nodded. “Lord Lannister managed to keep the more widely circulated papers from carrying it. But in King’s Landing it is well-known and still spoken of that Jaime Lannister killed Aerys Targaryen.”

Brienne felt her stomach turn, then looked to Eliza whose face was pale. “Mrs. Blackwood, I can’t imagine how hard it must be having done what you did - what you had to for your daughter.” And if she hadn’t, Brienne thought, she might never have met Jaime. 

“I have made my peace with it, Miss Stark. I know what lives were saved by it. But Mr. Lannister... he’s had to live with having to take the credit for it for the last four years. It takes a toll. He was so miserable when he left the Aerie last month, to go to you, that I thought you might think him ill. 

“He was in particularly low spirit, we thought, when he first arrived.” So perhaps it was not only the company that had caused his malaise. 

“And he is still now - he wrote me from Winterfell - his letters are always somewhat poor, but this one was low as well. I think his sister and father continue to try and push him to embrace the lie, but he hates that part of his life. He hates noteriety.” Eliza held it out for Brienne to see, and she could tell that it was indeed Jaime’s hesitating scratchy penmanship. And she certainly concurred on her last point - Jaime had said as much himself. 

But to what lengths might he go to ensure his privacy now that Eliza might tell him that the history of his secrets had been extended to her? Would he stay away? Would he wish to see the Starks again at all? It was too much to comprehend. 

And then there was the matter of his correspondence with Mrs. Blackwood, of which Brienne had certain proof in front of her. It pointed to more familiarity between Jaime and the widow than Brienne had been willing to welcome knowledge of. Her heart sank within her, and she felt she could hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably necessary, and she struggled so resolutely against the oppression of her feelings, that her success was speedy and the for the time, complete. 

“Writing to each other,” said Eliza, unaware of Brienne’s turmoil, “is the only comfort we both have in our shared secrecy - that, and my daughter. But Jaime doesn’t get to see his godchild often now. I, at least, have _ that _. I gave him a lock of her hair set in a ring when he was at the Aerie last in order to remind him of the blessings that his actions have wrought, and he said that it gave him more comfort than anything in the world - perhaps you saw it when he came here?”

“I did,” said Brienne, with composure of voice under which she concealed an emotion and distress beyond anything she had felt before - distress for Jaime’s privacy, for Rhaella and Daena’s enforced secrecy, and for herself - mortified and shocked at her foolishness. 

Fortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage and caught up to Arya and the younger girl with the pale yellow hair - far paler than Cersei's, as Sansa had correctly observed to Jaime. Eliza went to attend to her daughter, and Brienne was then at liberty to think and be wretched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this is the final chapter of this iteration of the story. At some point in the next 48 hours, the story will be uploaded as its own fic here on AO3, and it will be continued from there. Coincidentally, this chapter also finishes out Vol 1 of Jane's Sense and Sensibility itself, so it's kind of a great stopping/jumping off point. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading it up through here. I'll add a link here once the story is up on it's own, but ALSO if you subscribe to my author page, you'll get a notification when it gets posted under a new title. uhhhh Thank you all again, you're all the best!!! xoxo


	30. “I’m with you, you know that.” / “Scared, me?” (Slightly NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I combined days 30/31 into one! Enjoy!!

They paid the parking fee and slowly rolled into the gravel parking lot, looking for a spot.

“Do you think the Starks are hard-up or something?”

Her forehead creased in response, eyes darting down the next row of vehicles. “What makes you say a thing like that?”

“They’re charging $15 for parking on dirt.”

“Well, to be fair, it’s only $15 because we’ve got an SUV. If we had a smaller car, it would have been $8.”

“Next time, we should my brother drive then.”

“I can’t fit in his little coupe you know that. YOU can’t fit in that thing. It’s really impractical, even for him.”

“Could lay down in the back,” he said grinning. 

“What, layered on top of each other like a napoleon? No thank you.”

“Would that be so bad?” He was almost leering at her across the center console now. 

“Jaime we are not having sexual relations in your brother’s car.”

“You could sit on my face and—“

“Jaime!”

“—the roof is low so it would be only natural for you to—“

“Jaime.”

“—no you’re right I wouldn’t want you to do that - I mean I would - I really would, but if Tyrion hit a bump I don’t want to choke you, so—“

“—not much chance of that anyway.”

“Hey!” He reached over and stroked her thigh, feeling her muscles flex as she switched to the brake, letting a departing SUV pull out ahead of them. “I know it’s been a few hours but if you’ve forgotten—“

“Jaime, I know you’re scared but we are not having sex in my brand new car.”

“Scared, me? Not a chance. And what do you mean we’re not having sex in this car? We had sex in your last one!”

“Yes, and do you remember why we  _ had _ to get a new one?” She asked grating on the edge of patience as she pulled into the wide space and shifted to Park. 

“It was an old car, Brienne. If you’d listened to me and gotten a new one last year, maybe your foot wouldn’t have gone through the door panel and broken the locks when I gave you the best orgasm of your life.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes well I’m not risking it again so early in the lease.”

His hand crept up higher. “Afraid I’ll make you stain the seats?”

“The only thing I’m afraid of is needing to take this thing back and telling them I need something bigger to contain my husband’s ego.” She unbuckled her belt and switched the ignition off, and Jaime squeezed her thigh then unbuckled himself as well. She sighed. “Maybe we should have just gotten the Hummer.”

“I’d like one of your hummers.”

“Jameson I swear to the gods—“ she was drowned out by Jaime’s laughter. 

He reached over and picked up her hand in his. “Fine then, shall we?”

“I hope you mean the haunted house or your hand is about to be broken.”

“Yes, yes, we can go provided you promise to hold my hand.”

She smirked in response and squeezed his hand back. “Of course. I’m with you. You know that. I’ll protect you from all the scary white walkers and zombie Starks.”

“The crypts are supposed to be terrifying. It’s pitch black and you can just hear the corpses scratching at their sarcophagi.”

Brienne opened the door and climbed out. “Pitch black, you say,” she called over the roof of the car. Jaime climbed out as well, shutting the door behind him and circling around to the back to meet her. “Complete darkness. Very scary.”

“That’s good,” she said with a sly grin and a wink, slipping her hand into his. 

Jaime looked at her agape and then snapped his mouth shut, squeezing her hand and letting her drag him to the castle. Whatever she was thinking, he was on board. Maybe they  _ would _ get to christen the back seat afterward after all. 


End file.
